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CHAPTER 17

The Summons
October, 1455

      VERY EARLY in the morning, on the last Monday of October, the City Clerk of Mainz knocked at the door of Johann Gutenberg's printing shop. He was dressed in his official robes and wearing the seals and chains of his office. In his hands were two heavy rolls of paper.

      Beildeck put down his broom, opened the thick oak door and peered out. "What do you want?"

      "Send out Mr. Johann Gutenberg! Send out Mr. Peter Schoeffer! Upon the orders of the Mayor and Town Council of the city of Mainz, I order them to appear," the clerk roared.

      The newcomer's loud voice had not gone unnoticed in the surrounding street. Windows and doors popped open, and all up and down the street, curious eyes peered through shutters and around buildings.

      As the old servant hesitated, John Mentelin appeared behind him. "What's all this noise!"

      "Are you Mr. Gutenberg," the city clerk demanded.

      Mentelin looked disgusted. "Of course not, Nicolas — you know me."

      The clerk poked his chin into the air. "Then my business is not with you! Upon the orders of the Mayor and Town Council of the city of Mainz, I order you to send out Mr. Johann Gutenberg, and Mr. Peter Schoeffer!" His voice was so loud that people at the far end of the street paused and looked around.

      By now, every workman in the shop had crowded forward to see what was happening. They spilled out the entry way and onto the stoop. Peter pushed through the group and came out to where the pompous clerk was waiting. "All right, I'm Schoeffer. What do you want with me?"

      "You are Peter Schoeffer, originally of Frankfurt, lately of Mainz, and in the employ of Mr. Johann Gutenberg?"

      "I just said so!"

      With a flourish, the clerk handed him one of the rolls of paper. "Then at nine o'clock in the morning, on November third, in the Year of our Lord, 1455, you are commanded to appear before the judges of Mainz and their honorable court to answer the questions that will be put to you. Once there, if you fail to speak truly, you will be subject to fine, imprisonment, and possible exile. I lay this summons in your hands in the presence of all these witnesses."

      Then he thrust a second sheet of paper at Peter and barked, "Sign here!"

      Tucking the scroll of parchment under his arm, Peter took the second page. "What is it?"

      "Just shows you got the summons. Go on, sign it."

      After glancing over the words on the paper to assure himself that Nicolas was telling the truth, Peter nodded and wrote his name.

      Immediately, the clerk began bellowing again, "Johann Gutenberg — Stand forth!" And without further delay, he plunged into the crowd of workmen, shouldered his way past Mentelin and old Beildeck and entered the house, still calling Gutenberg's name.

      Instead of following, Peter unrolled the parchment to see what was in it. It was written in Latin, and the wording was complicated and confusing, as if designed to hide the document's meaning, rather than reveal it.

      "What's this about," inquired a friendly voice behind him.

      Peter looked around and saw the square face of Jungman, the innkeeper from across the street. His wife, Gerta was with him, still wiping her wet arms on her apron. "Whatever it is, it must be a mistake," Gerta said. "We know you'd never do anything wrong, Mr. Schoeffer!"

      "The paper doesn't actually give much information," Peter answered. "It just names a date and time and place, and says I'm supposed to be there and answer any questions they ask me. But I've no idea what it's about, or what the questions will be."

      Jungman had been reading over Peter's shoulder. "It looks like a lawsuit of some sort. I got the same kind of paper as this when my Uncle Tobias died and left me his farm. He had borrowed some money, and his creditors sued me to reclaim it. But I paid the debt, and that was all there was to it."

      "Do you owe anybody any money?" Gerta asked curiously.

      Peter shook his head. "No, I've never borrow money."

      The doorway behind them was suddenly crowded again. Nicolas, the town clerk, came bursting out, his gold chains jangling and his hat tipped over one ear. "Never mind — you better be in court or you'll be sorry," he shouted, waving his arms angrily.

      John Mentelin came out behind him. "That's enough, Nicolas." Then he spoke to the workmen. "All right, you fellows, go back to work. The excitement's over!"

      His eyes met Peter's. "Come in. We need you."

      With a nod to Jungman and his wife, Peter excused himself and followed Mentelin back into the shop.

      They found Johann Gutenberg in his tiny, sparsely-furnished bedroom. He sat slumped on the bed, and Ulrich Zell was hovering around him. When Peter and John Mentelin entered, Gutenberg looked up "It has happened as I feared. My life is ended!"

      For a moment, Peter thought that Gutenberg might literally be dying, because his skin was as gray as stone. He looked so stooped and old, and so despairing, that he hardly seemed the same man as the one who had been hauling heavy bundles of paper from the storage room, only the day before.

      "Sir, are you ill," Peter demanded urgently. "I'll send for Doctor Humery!"

      "Ill? I'm a dead man!" Gutenberg lifted the roll of parchment and shook it as if it was a live thing that he could kill by breaking its neck and strangling it. "May the Devil himself come and carry off his brother, Johann Fust, and burn him in eternal fire! He demands I pay him two thousand guilders, or he'll shut our doors forever!"

      Peter's stared. "Two thousand guilders!"

      Then it dawned on him. "He's foreclosing the debt! I'll go and see him at once!"

      The old man's anger died as quickly as it had begun and he sighed dispiritedly. "It's no use, Schoeffer. I've brought it on myself by quarreling with him. Just yesterday, I attended a banquet at the home of my friend, Martin Mair, the chancellor to the Archbishop. I was telling him that the Great Bible will soon be finished, and I offered to give him a copy, as a gift to the church in memory of my mother and sister.

      "Unfortunately, Fust was sitting nearby, and he overheard me. He got up at once and came waddling over in a fury! He was shouting that the Great Bible was not mine to give away. That it was his and his only! That he had bought and paid for it a hundred times over — and more of the same sort of thing."

      "The man's a vicious old toad!" Ulrich Zell muttered under his breath.

      "And I — unfortunately, I lost my temper and answered him in kind . . ." Gutenberg shrugged. "You can guess the rest."

      "He's a reptile," Zell added. "A slimy, crawling insect!"

      The old man held up the parchment that was still crumpled in his hand. "Whatever he is — he's had the last word. And here it is: in writing!"

      Mentelin frowned. "But Sir, if Fust acted because of anger, he might listen to reason, now that his temper has had time to cool. I think Peter's right — he should go and talk to him."

      "Yes, let me try," Peter agreed eagerly.

      "He won't see you. And the proof is there in your hands." Gutenberg pointed to the summons that Peter was still holding. "He's called down the law on both of us."

      Mentelin asked, "What does your document say, Peter? Is it the same as the Master's?"

      "Mine's very short," Peter said, handing it over. "All it does is call me to appear as a witness."

      Mentelin unrolled it and began to read. When he had finished, he looked up. "There's nothing at all in this about the debt."

      Peter nodded. "I was with Gutenberg when he and Mr. Fust sealed the contract for the Great Bible, and I signed it as a witness. Although I don't know much about the law, I expect I'll have to confirm that I was there on that day, and that it's really my signature."

      "Then tell them you were somewhere else," Zell cried, his youthful face lighting up with excitement. "You can make that swine of a banker look like a liar, and he won't be able to close us down!"

      Peter was shocked. "I can't do that!"

      "Of course you can," Zell persisted. "It's your word against his!"

      "But I was there. And I did sign it. I can't lie about that!"

      Zell's frown was like a thundercloud. "Nonsense! What's more important to you, Peter — saving the Great Bible, or telling one little untruth! Even if they did catch you, you could always say you'd just made a mistake and forgotten about it."

      Gutenberg lay back on the rumpled bed. "Schoeffer is right, Zell. They would catch him at it at once, and in any case, he must follow his conscience. Besides . . . there have been so many debts that they were bound to catch up with me some time or another. I only wish . . . that I could have finished the Bible before it happened."

      "Boss — " Zell began.

      Gutenberg cut him short. "No. I don't want to hear any more. Go and work now, all of you. And while you work, pray for a miracle that will somehow allow us to finish the Great Bible." He waved them away with a feeble hand. "As for me, I must rest. I feel very old today."

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