Sky's Dark Labyrinth

by Stuart Clark

  ‘Won’t you even carry them to my study?’ asked Kepler. ‘It’s just down the passage.’

  The man’s accent was rough. ‘I’ve my instructions from Lord Tengnagel. And more jobs to do after this one.’

  So Kepler hauled them out of the doorway and along to the study. Over the course of the following week, he moved them upstairs to the spare room, where there was more space. He then neglected the tables in favour of mining the data for his own ends.

  Tengnagel had agreed to return the ledgers on one condition: that Kepler would seek his approval for everything he wanted to print using the data. At the time, Kepler would have agreed to anything just to have the precious observations back, but his attention had once again been diverted from the Tables by the lure of Mars. When Tengnagel read Astronomia Nova and realised that Kepler was not advocating Tycho’s planetary arrangement, the Junker had insisted on writing a foreword clearly stating that Kepler had misused the data to suit Copernican ends.

  The poisoned words had been handed to Kepler, the ink still wet, moments before he was due to set off with his manuscript to Frankfurt. Without the damning foreword, he would be denied the right to publish the book at all. What could he do?

  He had hoped a publisher would share the cost of production, allowing him to print all the copies he wanted, but, as he went from table to table in the dusty hall, his mood became increasingly desperate. The first words the publishers saw in the manuscript told them to ignore the contents. As they read that, their eyes would glance over the top of the manuscript, checking to see if this was a joke. Kepler had assured them, pleaded with them, it was not. He had toured the taverns dispensing ale and bonhomie with them but to no avail. Times were hard, he was told. Yet not so hard that a few key manuscripts by other authors were auctioned off, he noticed.

  So, he moved on to Heidelberg, where the printing began using the residue of the Emperor’s money. He promised the ink-stained printer that more funds were on the way. Kepler decided that the best course of action was to disregard the ignominy and to send copies to those most likely to appreciate his work, such as astronomers and mathematicians, and also to those most likely to return favour, such as kings and dukes of distant lands. He just prayed that something would arrive soon to help him meet the debt.

  He had done his best to save the situation, so why did Barbara keep bringing this up? Did she not know how much it embarrassed him? His anger simmered.

  ‘I could earn a king’s fortune and you’d still not be happy. We are hardly peasants, but somehow you fail to be able to understand this.’

  She resumed staring into the empty grate. A single tear rolled down her cheek as, outside, another coach rumbled closer. Kepler paid the vehicle no more than a moment’s attention until it stopped right outside their house. In the moment of stillness that followed, a horse snorted and jangled its harness.

  Barbara looked up. ‘Not again. What does His Precious Majesty want now?’

  There was a rap on the door.

  Kepler got up from his chair when the knocking came again, louder and more urgent.

  ‘Quick,’ Barbara snapped. ‘Before they wake the children.’

  Kepler hurried to the front door. It was dark, and he fumbled at the latch. A blast of cold air, and there was Von Wackenfels waiting in the porch. ‘Four new stars have been discovered,’ he said, ‘Four!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Four new stars.’ He waved his hands upwards.

  There were a few stars visible in the gap of sky above them but not enough for Kepler to get his bearings. He stepped out, taking a few paces before the cold and damp registered in his brain to tell him that he was not wearing shoes. He dashed back to the hallway and retrieved his leather slippers. Then he ran for the riverbank, one eye on the road, the other on the sky, looking for any glimpse of the new celestial objects.

  Von Wackenfels trailed behind him, panting. ‘Word reached court this afternoon. I came as soon as I could get away. The stars have been found by an astronomer in Padua called Galileo.’

  ‘Galileo! I once exchanged letters with him, many years ago now. I was planning to send him a copy of my latest book.’

  ‘He says the stars are in the vicinity of Jupiter.’

  Kepler reached the riverbank. From the chill wind coming down the valley, it was clear that the air might frost again before spring could truly lay claim to the land. Kepler looked up, running his eyes across the sky to Jupiter. There was a building in the way, possibly the university.

  ‘We need to be on the bridge.’

  Von Wackenfels had only just arrived at his side. ‘Johannes, why are we heading for the bridge?’

  ‘To see the new stars, of course.’

  ‘No, you misunderstand.’

  ‘Misunderstand what?’ Kepler stopped running.

  The courtier bent forward, hands on knees, and started talking in between large gasps of air. ‘You didn’t let me finish. You cannot see them with the naked eye. Galileo has used some kind of looking-glass.’

  ‘What? Like spectacles?’

  ‘A long tube with lenses inside, judging by the description that the Tuscan ambassador brought with him.’

  ‘And this extends human vision?’

  ‘So it would seem.’

  Kepler returned to von Wackenfels. ‘Where can I get one? Is the ambassador still awake? Can he take a letter to Galileo?’

  ‘Calm, Johannes. I will tell you everything I know.’

  They returned to Karlova Street. The carriage was still outside the house, its driver hunched in a blanket and the horse dozing.

  ‘May we use your carriage for the discussion? My children are in bed and Barbara doesn’t like noise in the house at this hour.’

  Von Wackenfels opened the carriage door. ‘Be my guest.’

  The inside was no warmer than outside but at least it sheltered them from the wind. Kepler shivered. ‘Stars that cannot be seen with the naked eye. Who would have thought such wonders were possible?’

  ‘The ambassador says that Galileo has made further discoveries.’

  Sobriety crashed back into Kepler. ‘This is a jest. You’re making a fool of me.’

  Von Wackenfels gave an urgent shake of his head. ‘Galileo has written a book.’

  Kepler cocked his head. ‘A book? That I would like to see.’

  A few days later, a leather-bound volume arrived at court. Von Wackenfels sent for Kepler and ushered him into a small office where the slim book sat on the table. Siderius Nuncias, the Starry Messenger. Kepler picked it up at once and ran his fingers over the title page. His heart beat faster.

  Von Wackenfels placed a hand over the front cover, preventing him from opening it further. ‘Before you jump in, you should know this. The Emperor is hearing doubts about the reliability of Galileo’s observations. Some are saying that this is all just an elaborate illusion.’

  ‘But we have seen new things appear in the heavens before.’

  ‘Yes, we have, but these are powerful voices, very persuasive. I tell you because what you advise will form the basis of His Majesty’s position on these claims.’ Von Wackenfels held Kepler’s gaze. ‘We cannot let our own desire for novelty colour this judgement.’

  ‘I understand. I’ll be cautious.’

  When he was alone, Kepler placed the book on the table and sat down. He tapped his fingers on the cover, afraid now to open it. Then, decision made, he turned to the first page and began to read.

  When von Wackenfels returned, Kepler could not tell how much time had passed. He found it difficult to speak.

  ‘Well?’ asked the Privy Counsellor.

  ‘I have tried to be sceptical but …’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘Everything has changed.’

  ‘He is trustworthy?’

  ‘He writes with the pen of truth. There is no façade in this work, I can tell. The four new stars associated with Jupiter – he draws their position night after night and shows clearly that they are
in orbit around that mighty orb. They are moons of Jupiter. Perhaps there are moons around the other worlds too, waiting to be discovered. And there is so much more he has seen. The Milky Way is a river of stars stretching through space and, perhaps most importantly of all, our own Moon has mountains …’

  ‘Some say his claims are outrageous.’

  ‘The wonders in this book are beyond anything a human could imagine on a whim. If there was any doubt before, this proves it: Aristotle’s universe is smashed into a thousand pieces.’

  Von Wackenfels held up his hands in surrender. ‘You forget, my friend, I am no philosopher. What is Aristotle’s universe?’

  ‘In the fourth century BC, Aristotle described the universe as being made of four base elements: earth, water, air and fire. Earth necessarily sits at the centre of everything because it is composed of the heaviest element. Water sits on earth; air on water; and fire rises above them all. Then Aristotle introduced a fifth element, the ether. This divine substance floats above everything else and makes the heavens. It is condensations in the ether that we see as the celestial objects.’

  ‘I still don’t see what you’re getting at.’

  ‘If there are mountains on the Moon, it cannot be made of the ether, which Aristotle said was a perfect substance. The Moon must be made of earth, perhaps water, air and fire, too. If it’s made of all these heavy elements then, according to Aristotle, it should be drawn to the centre of the universe. So, why has it not come crashing down on us? Don’t you see? The fact that the Moon stays up there proves that Aristotle cannot be right. Everything we thought we knew about the celestial bodies is wrong.’

  Von Wackenfels chewed his bottom lip. ‘You cannot be mistaken about this, Johannes. As yet, there are no other astronomers prepared to back Galileo.’

  ‘Very well, I will write to him and ask him directly for a list of people who can confirm his discoveries. Of course, if I had one of the optical tubes, I could see for myself.’

  Von Wackenfels rolled his eyes. ‘I should have anticipated that request. Very well, I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘It is Johannes Kepler, is it not?’

  The stranger’s voice took the astronomer by surprise. He had ducked into the tavern on the way home in the hope of avoiding the nightly battle of sending his children to bed. Also, he wanted to savour the thrill of Galileo’s discoveries in peace.

  Insulated from the outside world by the noise of the other patrons, Kepler sipped his ale and contemplated what he had read in the Siderius Nuncias. As he did so, a new thought seeped into his mind: had he been duped? What if it were indeed a colossal prank? Why would God create celestial objects and then hide them away from man’s sight for so long? What if Galileo was on a par with some of the more obvious flim-flam artists who arrived at court claiming to be able to create miracles?

  In the market square Jerome Scoto huddled inside a wooden booth. Once he had been the greatest alchemist in Prague, advising Rudolph and directing experiments in the fume-ridden basement of the castle. Now, after making the mistake of being caught in some trick, he was reduced to peddling crystals to the unwary for loose change, the coloured beads supposedly imbued with mystical power.

  Kepler knew that he must urgently write to Galileo requesting confirmation. He could not afford to suffer the same fate as Scoto.

  ‘It is you, isn’t it? What a stroke of luck,’ the voice said.

  Kepler glanced up. The man looked respectable enough, dressed in a black suit. Twin beads dangled from the ends of his collar, keeping them flat against his chest. He was young, with an honest face and a clear complexion.

  ‘Do I know you?’ asked Kepler.

  ‘No, sir, you do not, but I have been sent to find you with an important request. I represent a powerful lord, who would have you cast his horoscope.’

  ‘I’m rather too busy to play the prophet at the moment,’ said Kepler, thankful that this conversation had not taken place at home where Barbara could have heard him turn down work and thereby money.

  ‘You misunderstand me, sir. My patron is a most extraordinary man.’

  ‘And you misunderstand me. My work is intended for people who understand philosophy, not for those infected by credulity, who think that an astronomer can pluck eventualities from of the heavens. The stars wield an influence over us certainly but not a directive kind, more suggestive. Only a man’s true resolve can determine his actions. Only an intelligent man can benefit from the kind of true astrology that I practise.’

  ‘I think my patron is such a man as you describe.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Ah! The one thing I may not reveal to you. My master wishes to remain anonymous for … personal reasons.’

  ‘Is he an enemy of the Emperor?’

  ‘He is most noble, sir.’ Kepler noted the response did not actually answer the question.

  ‘This would be the most private of transactions,’ pressed the gentleman.

  ‘How old is he? I have to know that.’

  ‘Twenty-five.’

  Perhaps too young to be scheming, thought Kepler.

  ‘He would of course pay you well for such expert advice.’ The man produced a purse of money and rested it on the table. It looked full.

  Vulgar, but effective.

  Kepler indicated an empty chair. ‘I’ll need his precise date and time of birth.’

  He made arrangements to hand over the chart a week from that meeting, saying that he did not want to rush things for such a noble client. In truth, he drew it up that very evening, intending to go to bed and perform the interpretation in the morning. Yet when he saw the arrangement of planets, something about the chart made him pause.

  Then he realised, he had seen it before; if not the exact chart, then at least one very similar. He pulled down from the shelf his file of reference charts and blew the dust from the top of the pages. Flipping through them, he stopped at the one he had remembered. It was indeed similar but not identical, which was a relief. This was the chart he had drawn up, just for practice, relating to the previous English monarch, Queen Elizabeth.

  Both this and the new chart displayed the planets suspended above the horizon on either side of the sky, caught either rising or setting. The aspect was perfect for balancing the individual, preparing them for greatness.

  Excited at the prospects for his client’s future, he wrote his conclusions in a gush. He then spent the rest of the night trying to deduce who the mysterious nobleman might be.

  17

  Padua, Republic of Venice

  Lights were still burning inside the small house when Galileo arrived. Just like Marina, a creature of the night. He paused in the porch, wondering whether Giuseppe would be with her. Deciding it did not matter if he were, he knocked. From force of habit, he knocked gently – the way he used to.

  It was some moments before the door opened a crack. ‘Galileo.’ Marina’s voice was soft, as if she were trying not to wake someone. She wore a simple silk robe, tied at the waist, that clung to the curves of her body. Galileo could see she wore nothing underneath.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ he said.

  She opened the door. ‘I knew it would be you.’

  The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Her chestnut hair fell in waves to halfway down her back and her dark eyes were as potent as the day Galileo had first seen her, crossing that bridge in Venice a dozen years ago. Motherhood had rounded but not damaged her figure.

  He walked past her, into the house. In the main room, embers glowed orange in the fireplace, the last of their warmth all but lost to the room. He stopped at the table and helped himself to a brandy, drank it straight down and poured another.

  ‘Bad night?’ She placed herself carefully on the upholstered settle.

  ‘Fools, the lot of them, too full of wine to see straight. Most of them are convinced I put crystals in the tubes to trick them into seeing stars. Old Libri didn’t even come to the gathering. Libri! Fool. The rest of them
spent the whole time complaining of the cold.’

  ‘Perhaps they’re not as well equipped as you to fight the chill,’ she said passing her gaze over his paunch.

  ‘Is a man to be ridiculed for being successful enough to eat? I tell you, Marina, I’m learning as much about human stupidity as I am about the heavens. How could they not see the new stars? If only the night had been a little clearer. Oh, listen to me: if only this, if only that.’ Galileo rubbed his temple, letting his fingers roam upwards to touch his receding hairline. ‘So many now speak out against me that Grand Duke Cosimo’s reputation is being damaged by his support for me. Even Kepler – Rudolph’s imperial mathematician – is writing asking for witnesses to my discoveries, telling me of his need for an optical tube.’

  ‘Then send him one, let him verify your claims and put an end to all this fighting.’

  Galileo scowled. ‘It’s not that simple. I can’t risk another astronomer owning an optical tube yet. Not before I complete my survey. These discoveries are mine to make.’

  ‘But you’ve sent so many out.’

  ‘To dukes and nobles, men of no initiative who will look at what I tell them to look at. I dare not send one to another astronomer, especially a Protestant astronomer. Yet, I can’t ignore him. He’s the only one who’s shown any inclination to believe me.’ A thought struck Galileo. ‘Perhaps I could send Kepler details of my latest discoveries coded into anagrams. That way no one can attack my claims, but should someone else stumble over them while waving around an optical tube, Kepler can prove my priority.’ Galileo grinned. ‘And I hear that he wishes to leave Prague. I could recommend him to fill my post here at Padua.’

  Marina tensed at the mention of Galileo’s impending departure. He cursed himself for stumbling into the subject so inelegantly. ‘That’s really what I came here to talk to you about,’ he said. ‘I’ve secured places for the girls. They’ll be safe in the convent until I can find them suitors.’ He knew he should tell her the whole truth, but the words failed him.