His brown robe billowing behind him, the Franciscan monk walked along so fast that Simon had trouble keeping up. Hubertus stopped only now and then to take a drink from his wineskin and share his latest philosophical musings with the medicus.
“Naturally Wilhelm von Ockham was correct in asserting that Jesus and his disciples owned no property,” he panted, wiping red wine from his lips. “But just think what that means for the church! If the shepherd had no money, then his followers should have none either. All the pomp and ceremony would be nothing but idolatry!” He pointed at the magnificent facade of the bishop’s palace, which they were approaching now. Directly adjoining the Regensburg cathedral, it was a little empire to itself, surrounded by high walls separating it from the city, the kaiser, and the Elector.
“Hasn’t the church also done much good with its money?” Simon gasped, trying to keep pace with the fat monk.
Brother Hubertus gestured dismissively. “A huge collection of paintings framed in gold but gathering dust in the monastery archives? Altars and statues so magnificent they overwhelm the beholder? For my part I’d rather be outside with the simple folk. God resides in the whorehouses, as well! But try telling the bishop that! Oh, well, at least he’ll let you argue with him without burning you at the stake.”
The Franciscan strode toward a tremendous archway flanked by two of the bishop’s halberd-wielding soldiers. He looked back impatiently at Simon, who hesitated at the entrance.
“What’s the matter?” Hubertus inquired. “You wouldn’t decline a breakfast of freshly boiled sausage and a mug of cold beer, would you?”
Simon’s stomach growled, reminding him that it had indeed been some time since he’d eaten last. And so, with trepidation, he followed the Franciscan monk. What did he have to lose? Magdalena was probably having a fine time with that little fop, so he might as well take his time dining at the bishop’s residence. The danger of being recognized was no doubt lessened in the company of a Franciscan monk. Besides, Simon was curious what position Hubertus actually held in the church; whatever it was, the fat monk seemed to have quite a reputation in town.
Greeting Brother Hubertus with a nod, the guards allowed both men to pass through. The Franciscan returned their greeting with a smile.
“From this point on, we’re safe from the city guards,” he said conspiratorially. “This is the bishop’s territory, with its own court and prison. That lousy gang of night watchmen can’t do anything to us here.”
“Really?” A faint, almost imperceptible smile spread over Simon’s face. His unexpected visit to the bishop’s residence was taking a new turn. “Suppose a-let’s say a thief or an arsonist were to seek refuge here?” he inquired cautiously.
“Then the bishop would probably grant him asylum,” Hubertus replied. “If only to annoy the city. But the guards out there keep a damn close watch to see that no suspicious person enters here. Otherwise things could get out of hand.”
“Naturally.” Simon nodded.
They passed beneath a stone archway and found themselves in a finely cultivated, shady inner courtyard extending a full five hundred feet to the east and surrounded by stately buildings. To one side the cathedral loomed over the bishopric walls, and the entire area looked like the inside of a fortress. Brother Hubertus quickly crossed the courtyard and, after turning left, came to a stop in front of a heavy wooden door. The air was filled with an unusual odor that Simon couldn’t place at first-sweet and heavy, like old beer that had been in the sun too long.
The Franciscan pulled a large key from his robe, unlocked the door, bowed slightly, and gestured for the visitor to enter. “My empire. Please make yourself at home.”
Simon entered a room whose vaulted ceiling rose up out of sight. From several huge copper vats steam rose toward the ceiling. Wooden barrels, each inlaid with the bishop’s coat of arms, were stacked high along the walls, and in the room’s center stood a hot brick oven with a huge copper pan on top. The air was so humid the medicus’s shirt instantly clung to his body.
“A brewery…” he said, astonished.
Brother Hubertus nodded proudly. “The bishop’s brewery. We had it built just this past year atop the ruins of an ancient Roman gate. And I venture to say that we brew the best damn beer in all of Bavaria.”
“And you are…” Simon began.
“The bishop’s brewmaster,” Hubertus finished for him. “And incidentally the best damn brewmaster the bishop could find. His Excellency loves beer, especially mine.” Grinning, he poured them each a mug from a wooden keg. “Perhaps that’s the reason I can take a few more liberties than the other servants. The bishop would give up his Sunday mass before his morning pint. Cheers!”
He held up his foaming mug as Simon tasted the beer, his eyes widening in pleasant surprise. The beer was excellent-cold and smooth, with just the perfect hint of hops.
“Good, isn’t it?” The Franciscan winked. “Wheat beer, but don’t tell a soul. In Bavaria only the Elector is allowed to brew it. But why should he alone have the privilege of such an excellent brew, hmm? It’s a sin not to share.” He took another deep gulp and burped loudly.
“But have a seat and tell me what brought a scholar like yourself to Regensburg.” Brother Hubertus gestured to a rickety table and two stools alongside a steaming kettle. “I must tell you that when I’m not brewing beer, I like to dabble in other sciences and theories: Wilhelm von Ockham, Thomas Aquinas, but the worldly scholars, too, like Bacon and Hobbes.” He sighed. “I’m surrounded here by drunken fools! It’s good to talk with a like-minded individual. So what brings you here?”
Simon sipped his beer and decided to tell the truth, at least in part.
“I’m a medicus in search of employment,” he said.
“Aha, I see, a medicus.” Deep folds appeared on the fat monk’s brow. “And where did you study, if I may ask?”
“In… Ingolstadt.” Simon didn’t mention he’d broken off his studies after just a few terms-out of laziness, a gambling addiction, and debt.
“It’s not easy to establish a position for oneself among the guilds as a doctor,” the medicus continued after a short hesitation. “The old ones drive off the new ones. I’m waiting to be tested by the Regensburg collegium.”
“Do you have references?”
“I… well…” Simon fumbled nervously in his jacket pockets as if he could magically produce such a document. Though no miracle, he did feel a disgusting, granular lump in his coin purse.
In all the excitement he’d never gotten around to examining it more carefully, and now he lacked the necessary instruments and books to do so anyhow. He’d never be able to solve this riddle with what he had to work with in the beggars’ catacombs.
Then an idea came to him. He pulled out his little leather purse and handed it to Brother Hubertus.
“Unfortunately I don’t have any references with me, but the venerable members of the guild assigned me a little task prior to my examination.” Simon adopted a scholarly air. “By next week I’m supposed to identify this powder. Do you have any idea what it could be?”
The monk poured a bit of the powder into his huge hand and sniffed it.
“Hmm,” he replied, scratching his bald head. “A musty smell, bluish, mixed with ash…”
“At first I thought it might be burned flour,” Simon continued. “But I suspect it’s something else now.”
Hubertus nodded. “It is. I have a hunch, too.”
“You know?” Simon jumped up from his stool. “Then tell me, please!”
The Franciscan placed the pouch back on the table. “Not so fast, young friend. It would be a pity if I was mistaken and caused you to fail the collegium.” He shook his head, thinking. “Besides, it’s your test, not mine. I’ll do you this favor, but I’ll need a little time.”
“How long?” Simon asked impatiently.
Hubertus shrugged. “One or two days. I just want to be certain. In the meantime I look forward to an intelligent, scholarly discussion or two.”
Simon shook his head. “I can’t wait that long.”
The monk sipped his beer thoughtfully, then brushed the foam from his lips. “You’re welcome to stay here with me for the time being. I have a room next to the brewery that’s empty, and now that it’s summer I don’t have
