The Devil's Pawn

by Oliver Pötzsch

  Johann felt empty and spent. Surely it wouldn’t be long until the guards arrived. What they would find here would change the history of Rome forever. The small silver globe weighed heavily on Johann’s chest; he had almost forgotten about it in all the excitement. He still owned this pawn, which he had intended to use to bargain with Tonio.

  The globe’s contents in exchange for my grandson.

  But what use was that when they couldn’t get away from here? Johann’s eye turned to the mangled body of the pope beneath the baldachin. Miraculously, the shelter had been the only thing to remain intact amid all the chaos. It merely bore a few scorch marks and the fabric was torn at the edges, hanging down like limp wings. What was it Pope Leo had said when he couldn’t work out how Johann had made it up here?

  Can you fly?

  Johann sighed. He wished he could. But it wasn’t possible. No man could fly, not even—

  He started.

  An image appeared before his mind’s eye, an image he’d seen a long time ago among Leonardo da Vinci’s notes. Back at Château du Cloux, he had been permitted to browse through the library and read the wealth of notes the genius had composed. Leonardo, too, had been fascinated by flying. He had observed the flight of birds closely, studying the movement of their wings. There were images of a flying apparatus with long wings made of wood and linen, and other sketches of types of propellers. But Johann was thinking of yet another image.

  The drawing of a man with a large canopy above his head, like a roof.

  Almost like a baldachin.

  Johann sprang to life.

  “Help me!” he shouted at Greta and Karl. “I know how we can get away from here!”

  “What’s your plan?” asked Karl. “If you’re thinking of using the remaining aqua regia to get through the door, I don’t think—”

  “Quit jabbering—come help me!” Johann had already rushed over to the baldachin.

  To make it rain- and wind-resistant, it had been manufactured from solid, reinforced linen that was additionally strengthened by thin wooden sticks. Four poles held up the corners, and strings looped through iron rings held the baldachin to the ground. Johann untied one of the strings and lifted the shelter tentatively. It was amazingly light, and it would be even lighter without the poles.

  Karl turned pale. Now he probably also remembered the drawing from Leonardo da Vinci’s house.

  “Jesus, don’t tell me you want to—”

  “Can you think of another way?” barked Johann. “We don’t have much time! Even if we managed to lower ourselves to one of the levels below, they would only catch us there.”

  As if to support his words, someone started banging against the door. Angry shouts followed. Johann gave a tired smile.

  “At least it looks like Hagen didn’t give his key to his comrades. I’m guessing only very few people have access to this terrace. We still have a few minutes until they break through the door.”

  “Hold on,” said Greta. “Are you . . . are you planning to use this thing to . . . ?”

  “To fly, yes,” sighed Karl as the banging against the door grew louder.

  “Eleven by eleven paces. That’s how big the canopy ought to be, according to Leonardo’s calculations. But I believe he’s wrong. A smaller area should work, too.”

  “But there are three of us!” insisted Karl.

  “And we’re not trying to cross the Alps but merely to glide to the bottom.”

  “Glide?” Karl groaned again. “We are going to shatter like rotten apples.”

  “If it’s the only way to get down from here, then so be it,” said Greta. “No matter how slim our chances. I would do anything to save my son. Maybe we’ll even catch up to Hagen in time.” She scrambled to her feet and walked over to Johann, the noise behind the door increasing still. “What do we have to do?”

  “Let’s remove the four poles and tie the strings into thick ropes.” Johann pointed at the thin wooden sticks below the linen. “We tie up the ropes, hold on to those sticks, and jump off the balustrade.”

  “That’s crazy!” shouted Karl.

  “Crazier than all that happened on this terrace?” Johann gestured at the dead pope and the equally dead panther, both lying in a pool of blood that was still growing. “At least what I propose is not sorcery or some bizarre ritual, but reasonable science.” He winked at Karl. “Isn’t that what you always wanted to be? A reasonable scientist?”

  Karl hesitated for another moment, but when a powerful thud shook the door, he gave up with a sigh.

  “Better to shatter on the ground than burn at the stake, or whatever else they would have done to us.”

  He helped Johann and Greta to remove the poles and braid the strings into ropes. They worked in silence as the door shuddered on its hinges. Evidently, the guards had fetched something heavy. The top hinge was beginning to come off.

  “Faster!” urged Johann.

  When the second hinge came off the wall, they had knotted four reasonably strong ropes. Johann tied them together in the middle, leaving three loops. One for each of them.

  “Help me carry the baldachin to the balustrade.”

  Acting on instinct, Johann picked up his satchel full of ingredients and tied it around his hips. Maybe some of it could still come in handy. Then they lifted up the canopy together, and a gust of wind immediately pulled on it, making it bulge like a sail at sea. Still, they managed to carry the baldachin to the edge of the terrace.

  “I think a quick prayer wouldn’t hurt,” said Johann to Greta. “We could really use the Lord’s help for once.”

  “The dear Lord has long since turned away from you,” replied Greta.

  The third hinge dropped, and half a dozen guards poured onto the platform with raised swords and halberds.

  Johann gave a shrug. “No prayer it is.”

  The canopy billowed.

  “Jump!” screamed Johann.

  And the baldachin took off.

  It was no gentle gliding, no elegant flight like that of an eagle, but an abrupt fall.

  Karl felt his heart stop for a moment. This was complete madness. Man wasn’t made for flying. The ground raced toward him, hard ground, a maze of lanes in between the roofs of the houses right behind Castel Sant’Angelo. Suddenly the baldachin was struck hard by something. It took Karl a moment to realize that it wasn’t the impact but another wind gust. It lifted them up and carried them a little distance away from the castle. Karl’s hands were cramped around the rope, and beside him Greta was screaming.

  And Johann laughed.

  It was a throaty laughter that sounded somewhat insane. But the doctor seemed to be the only one who wasn’t on the verge of passing out with fear. Instead, he pulled on his loop, causing the baldachin to tumble but also gain height. They started to spin in wild circles. Below them, Sant’Angelo Bridge appeared; the baldachin bulged. Karl heard an ugly sound as the canopy tore.

  Then they plunged into the depths.

  Karl doubled over in expectation of the hard, inevitably fatal landing. Instead, his feet suddenly struck something cold and wet.

  The Tiber! he thought.

  The next instant, the water closed over his head. Now, at the start of December, the Tiber was as cold as the kiss of a water witch. Blackness engulfed Karl. He tried to make a few desperate swimming movements when he remembered that he didn’t know how to swim. When he had fallen into the moat at Tiffauges, John Reed had saved him. But John was dead.

  Just like I am going to be.

  Something grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up. Spluttering, he emerged between scraps of linen and broken sticks.

  “The bank!” he heard Johann shout. “It isn’t far! We can make it!”

  The doctor wrapped his arm around Karl’s chest and started pulling him through the river. Karl swallowed stinking water, coughed, but Faust didn’t let go. Karl’s body was pressed against the doctor’s. They hadn’t been this close since the horrific bath at Tiffauges. Karl was sca
red for his life, but at the same time he felt strangely secure.

  Then they reached the muddy bank. Johann dragged Karl out of the river, where he spewed up water and bile. Trying to catch his breath, Karl looked up and saw that Greta was already waiting for them. Her dress clung to her body and was covered in brown slime, as were her hair, her arms, and her legs. Karl looked down on himself and saw that he was just as filthy.

  “We stink like polecats,” remarked Johann with a grin and untied the leather satchel from around his waist. He ran his fingers through his black hair, removing leaves and some slimy items that Karl didn’t care to inspect more closely. “The Cloaca Maxima drains into the Tiber a little upstream by the Pons Aemilius,” explained Johann. “This river truly isn’t a violet-infused Roman thermal bath. But at least we flew. How did you like it?”

  “How did we like it?” Karl thought he must have misheard. “It was awful—horrible! And we didn’t fly, we dropped like dead birds!”

  “Well, we did fly for a little bit.” Johann nodded solemnly. “I believe we are the first persons to prove that Leonardo’s flying canopy actually works.”

  “We might have survived,” said Greta, rubbing her arms to warm herself. “But Hagen is long gone with my son.” Her eyes grew empty. “I would rather have crashed and died—then I would soon be with Sebastian.”

  “You mustn’t talk like that—” began Johann.

  “You can’t tell me what I must and must not do!” said Greta harshly. “Was it your idea to summon the devil up on the terrace? Together with the pope or whoever? That’s why you stole my key ring! Wherever you go, you spread misery and chaos!”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “He is telling the truth, Greta,” said Karl. “He was only trying to protect your son.”

  Johann nodded. In halting words he described what had happened up on the rooftop. “Tonio is somewhere in town,” he concluded. “The ritual failed. But all this can only end once I stand face to face with Tonio. I still don’t understand what Tonio tried to achieve with the ritual. If he is the devil himself—”

  “I don’t care what unfinished business you might have with Tonio or with the devil himself,” said Greta, cutting him off. “I want my son back.”

  “And I my grandson.” Johann frowned “Damn it. If only I knew where Tonio was hiding and what shape he has taken on this time. The pope mentioned something earlier on. He said . . .” He closed his eyes and focused. “He said Tonio likes to spend his time at Romulus and Remus’s place of retreat.”

  “The two panthers?” Greta shrugged. “That would be inside Castel Sant’Angelo, in their cage. But why should someone like Tonio spend time inside a cage? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “You’re right,” said Johann with a sigh. “But those were the pope’s words. At—”

  “Romulus and Remus’s place of retreat, I know,” said Greta. “Words spoken by a lunatic. Keeps panthers as pets and names them after the founding fathers of Rome. Even at Santo Spirito the nuns used to whisper about the Holy Father, calling him a fool. How many of the poor and sick could have been helped instead of wasting all that money on fireworks, games, and big cats? It’s almost like we’re back in ancient Rome.”

  One last rocket suddenly fired, exploding far above their heads. At the same moment, something exploded inside Karl’s mind.

  In ancient Rome.

  “What did you just say?” Karl looked at Greta with astonishment.

  “I said that it’s almost like—”

  “No, no, before that! You said that Pope Leo named his panthers after the founding fathers of Rome. That’s it!” Karl slapped his hand against his forehead, and suddenly he stopped feeling cold. He was still shivering, but with excitement. “Do you get it? It’s not about the panthers. It’s about the real brothers.”

  “You mean . . . ?” began Johann.

  “Exactly.” Karl nodded. “At the place of retreat of Romulus and Remus. That’s what the pope said.”

  “And where is that?” asked Greta.

  Karl picked a rotten leaf from his hair and spoke quickly. “Over a month ago I went to the Mons Palatinus to sketch. There’s a cave there—I even told you about it. Remember? I told you about a heathen monument.”

  When Johann said nothing, Karl went on. “It’s said that inside the cave, a she-wolf nursed the two brothers after they were washed ashore in a willow basket. Apparently, the cave used to be a well-known place of worship, but now it’s partly collapsed. Only very few know where to find its entrance.”

  “That’s right—I remember now! Ha! Why didn’t I think of that myself?” The doctor gave Karl a slap on the shoulder that nearly sent him back into the Tiber. “I must be getting old. The Lupercal, the wolf’s cave! I’ve read about it, and indeed, you did tell me about it. One of the many heathen places left in Rome. And it would suit Tonio. He loves the underworld, and inside this cave, he would be right in the center of Rome and yet completely undisturbed. The perfect hideout.”

  Johann shouldered his bag and started to clamber up the bank toward the lane. He turned around impatiently to Karl and Greta. “What is it? If we want to save my grandson from Tonio’s clutches, we mustn’t lose any time! Karl must lead us to the Lupercal.”

  “I have heard of this cave,” said Karl. “But to be honest, I don’t know where exactly it lies. The entrance is buried beneath rubble.”

  “Isn’t that great,” Greta groaned. “The Palatine Hill is the biggest hill of Rome, where one derelict temple follows the next. How are we supposed to find a buried cave?”

  “And there’s something else,” said Karl. “The locals who told me about the cave said it was cursed. They called it la porta infernale.”

  “The gateway to hell.” Johann nodded. “If there were any doubts left that Tonio resided there, they have now been removed. The devil reigns in Rome. And, by God, we are going to find him!”

  Act V

  Dante’s Inferno

  28

  THREE FIGURES IN WET, DIRTY CLOTHES HURRIED TOWARD the Campo Vaccino and past the tall Trajan’s Column. It was the middle of the night, and the only people in the streets were vagabonds, thieves, and murderers, but no one bothered the three figures. They stank ten paces against the wind.

  Greta bounded ahead of the two men. Near the Sant’Angelo Bridge they had found three torches, left behind from the fireworks display, offering at least a little light against the darkness. Greta ran so fast that the torch was in danger of going out. She couldn’t believe how drastically her life had changed in the last few hours. Only the day before she had been firm and unswerving in her faith. Faith had offered her comfort and kept the fear at bay. And now she had joined her old friend Karl Wagner and her father, whom she’d never wanted to see again, to find the man who called himself Tonio del Moravia and who, so her father believed, was the devil.

  Greta’s heart was racing. Every minute was precious! At least one good thing had come out of the last few hours for her: they had shown her just how much she loved Sebastian, more than anything else on this earth. If she should succeed in rescuing her son, then she would never give him to anyone else again. The last two years seemed like a blurry dream to her now. Despite her fear, she felt strangely clearheaded, liberated. And she knew that she could never return to Santo Spirito. Her life of solitary silence was over once and for all.

  They arrived at Campo Vaccino, a field of rubble shrouded in fog and riddled with holes that made for easy traps in the darkness. Twice already Greta had slipped on the wet stones, and both times Karl had managed to catch her before she fell into one of the holes that were probably full of adders and other vermin.

  “The Mons Palatinus.” Next to her, Johann was pointing at the outline of a tall hill rising into the sky beyond the field. Slung across his shoulder was the leather satchel he had carried with him since their leap with the baldachin. “The Romans also called this hill Palazzo Maggiore, the great palace. Our European palaces originate fro
m here. Many Roman emperors built pompous villas upon this hill. It is the oldest part of Rome and the place where the city was founded.”

  “You were here yesterday,” said Karl as they continued to walk toward the hill. “I don’t suppose you saw anything resembling a cave?”

  “I didn’t have enough time. Hagen overpowered me very quickly and took me to the castle inside a chest.” Johann nodded grimly. “Another sign that we’ve come to the right place. The giant was probably visiting his new master.”

  Greta turned to Karl. “And what about you? Did you notice anything on Palatine Hill? You drew it, after all.”

  “There are countless palaces here worth drawing. But the buildings are dilapidated and overgrown—a cave could be anywhere. Like I said, I only heard about it from some vegetable farmers. They sounded like they wanted to warn me about the cursed place, the porta infernale, the gateway to hell.”

  Johann stopped. He massaged his temples, like he often did when trying to focus. “Let us think. If the cave really was such a sacred place, then the emperors would have used it to glorify themselves.” He looked up and gazed at one of the ruins on the hill. “Who is the best-known Roman emperor?”

  “Julius Caesar,” said Karl.

  “Who, as you well know, wasn’t an emperor. Only his name served all subsequent emperors as title,” said Johann. “And he had no villa on Palatine Hill. Caesar lived down below as pontifex maximus. So, who else?”

  “Constantine?” suggested Karl. “He was the first emperor to convert to Christianity.”

  “And cut off the head of old Rome by founding Constantinople?” The doctor gave a snort of derision. “Bah!”

  “Augustus?” offered Greta.

  “Hmm . . . The first Roman emperor and Caesar’s great-nephew.” Johann nodded. “Following his death he was declared a god.” He gestured toward a large, derelict group of buildings. “That’s where his palace used to stand. I once read that Augustus wanted to adopt the name of Romulus.”