Sky's Dark Labyrinth

by Stuart Clark

  Von Wackenfels put his arm across Kepler’s chest. ‘Do not approach too closely. You must not enter the magic circle.’

  ‘What’s he got in there?’ Kepler whispered.

  ‘His two most precious possessions: a unicorn’s horn and the cup of Christ.’

  Kepler’s anger threatened to burst from him. He wanted to storm into the circle and grab the Emperor, drag him down into the streets and throw him onto the pile of bodies. That way, perhaps he would understand.

  ‘Your Majesty, Johannes Kepler is here,’ said von Wackenfels.

  Rudolph began his usual mumblings. As the litany continued, all Kepler could make out was the word ‘horoscope’.

  ‘I will not give you a reading,’ he said.

  More incoherence, out of which curled, ‘… do as I ask. I must know how this silly skirmish will end.’

  ‘Silly skirmish? Your citizens are being slaughtered. The blood lust runs through both sides.’

  ‘What can I do? What can I do? I must know. You must tell me.’

  Von Wackenfels stepped forward. ‘The estates have called for Matthias’s help. His troops are marching towards the city as we speak. They are well disciplined and a force to be reckoned with. Tengnagel has gone as an envoy for His Majesty. Please, Johannes, how will this end?’

  ‘I don’t need to draw star charts to tell you this. Pay the mercenaries to leave the city. Once they have gone …’

  ‘Pay them! Pay them!’ Rudolph tottered on the edge of the chalk marks. ‘For looting my city? Pay them, you say?’

  Kepler’s heart beat faster. ‘Your Majesty, they’re here to claim their money. The only way to be rid of them is to honour your agreement to pay them. Once they have gone, you will have removed the need for your brother’s intervention, and he will stop his advance.’

  Rudolph started giggling. Soon, his mirth consumed him so utterly that he lost his footing and dropped to the floor. Even this did not halt his amusement. Von Wackenfels squirmed at the display, and Kepler realised that whatever rationality had once resided in Emperor Rudolph was now gone for ever.

  23

  Florence, Tuscany

  Sunlight bathed Galileo’s rooftop terrace. He basked in the warmth and the faint smell of citrus from the lemon trees as he pumped his foot up and down on the lathe’s pedal. The spinning wheel kept a steady rhythm and the clicking cogs added their own syncopation. He dipped the stumpy polishing tool into the finest of his grinding powders and held it to the glinting lens fixed to the spinning wooden armature.

  From up here, Galileo could keep one eye on his task and the other on the narrow road that ran alongside his property. Although he was cloistered in a quiet part of the city, the occasional activity near his villa helped to combat the laborious nature of the lens polishing.

  If he lifted his eyes further he could see the tall cypress trees that punctuated the terracotta wash of the city’s buildings.

  ‘Signor?’

  Galileo took his foot off the pedal and dropped his gaze to the street. A rotund monk with an equally rotund face was looking up, his hands raised to shadow his eyes. Galileo smiled. ‘Well, well. Brother Benedetto Castelli. Don’t tell me they’ve thrown you out of my old job already?’

  ‘This is no time for jokes, Master,’ panted Castelli. ‘I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.’

  ‘Not run out of food in Padua, have they?’

  ‘It’s about Copernicus.’

  The smile faded from Galileo’s face. ‘I’ll come and let you in.’ He pulled off his leather apron and went down the twisting staircase to the garden gate.

  Castelli was much younger than he appeared from a distance. He had dark eyes that shone as brightly as one of Galileo’s lenses. His eyebrows and moustache were as brown as a forest bear although his hair was receding, rendering a tonsure superfluous. His large fleshy ears glowed red and beads of sweat clung to his forehead.

  ‘Come in, before you fry in all your fat. Lemonade?’

  ‘Anything to quench my thirst. How are the girls?’

  ‘Settled in at San Matteo now, just down the road. Still too young to take the veil, of course, but that gives me some time to find them suitors.’

  Castelli wiped his brow. ‘How goes the search?’

  ‘I’m run off my feet making telescopes. I haven’t even given it a thought. It’s cruel that Virginia was born a woman, she’s so quick and curious about my work she would have made a formidable philosopher.’ Galileo ushered Castelli inside. The sitting room was adorned with half-made telescopes and lenses. They navigated the open pots of glue and other obstacles, and headed for the kitchen.

  ‘You didn’t tell me that the faculty at Padua were so fanatical in their dislike of Copernicus.’

  ‘No more than anywhere else,’ said Galileo.

  ‘I was warned by the overseer never to teach or to mention the movement of the Earth. The subject is forbidden.’

  ‘Did you run all the way up the hill just to tell me this?’ Galileo began clearing a space on a chair.

  ‘No,’ said Castelli.

  There was a clatter. Galileo turned to see that the tubby monk had bumbled into a low table, tipping candles and quills across the floor. Stepping back, Castelli then sent flying a pile of papers covered in calculations.

  ‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have cleared out the furniture.’ At least having Castelli around made Galileo feel graceful again.

  ‘You should make your housekeeper tidy up,’ said Castelli.

  ‘I don’t have one. She kept tidying up. Couldn’t find a thing.’

  ‘So who makes the lemonade?’

  ‘Not that it is any of your concern, but Virginia. She is proving a godsend for my laundry too. She takes it from me when I visit and has it all washed and pressed a week later. Now, what have you come to talk to me about?’

  Castelli picked up a messy sheaf of embossed leather and carefully lowered himself onto the chair beneath. ‘Opposition is growing to the Copernican way of thinking.’

  ‘Is that it? Just give it time. The more telescopes I build, the more people will see the truth.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. It’s not about disbelieving what you see through the telescope any more; it’s about disbelieving that the Earth moves. Some are saying that it is reckless talk and goes against the Bible.’

  ‘What fools are they? Tell me names and I shall make a mockery of them.’

  Castelli screwed his face up at Galileo’s words. ‘No, sir. It’s not a man; it’s a woman.’

  ‘Ha! Even easier.’

  ‘Galileo! It’s Madama Cristina.’

  ‘The Grand Duchess? I don’t believe it. Who have you been talking to?’

  ‘The Grand Duchess herself.’

  Galileo froze. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

  ‘I was dining with the Medicis in Pisa two days ago. I was regaling them with talk of the telescope and the movement of the Medici stars. The Grand Duke showed himself to be much pleased with everything I had to say, but Madama Cristina asked how I could be certain that the stars were real and not illusions of the telescope. I described to her the orderly movement, and the Grand Duke agreed with me that there could be no doubting their reality. But when I was leaving, a porter came running after me and called me back. Before I go on, I should tell you that Cosimo Boscaglia was there.’ Castelli looked almost apologetic.

  Galileo groaned at the mention of the aged philosopher.

  ‘He was sitting next to the Grand Duchess and had her ear for long periods during the meal. He agreed there was no doubting the validity of your discoveries but he was clear in his opinion that the motion of the Earth was another matter. He said that it had in it something of the incredible, especially because the Scripture presents a contrary view. Madama Cristina quoted Psalm 103.’

  ‘O Lord my God, et cetera, et cetera, thou fixed the Earth upon its foundation, not to be moved for ever,’ said Galileo.

  ‘And the book o
f Joshua in which the Sun is commanded to stand still for a whole day in the middle of the sky. I had to turn myself into a theologian and argue against such obvious interpretations. The younger members of the family came to my assistance, but nothing would sway the Duchess.’

  ‘And Boscaglia?’

  ‘He said nothing more, just looked pleased with himself.’ Castelli took a deep gulp of his drink. ‘Can we really be spreading heresy?’

  ‘Don’t be absurd. Both Holy Scripture and nature are emanations from the divine. In the case of the former, it was dictated by the Holy Spirit. In the latter, it was emplaced for us to see. The two cannot be at variance.’

  ‘But, as much as I believe that, I can still see the contradictions.’

  ‘Remember this: while the Scripture cannot be in error, those who expound its meaning are only human. They can err, especially when they base themselves on simplistic literal meanings. Let’s find the exact passage and put our minds at rest.’

  Galileo picked his way to the bookcases lining the walls. He pulled a well-thumbed copy of the Bible from the shelf and flicked through it, arriving quickly at the book of Joshua. He scanned the pages.

  ‘Remember, the Bible tells us how to go to Heaven, not how Heaven goes. Here it is: “the Sun halted in the middle of the sky”.’ He looked at Castelli. ‘Seems to me that this is exactly where Copernicus tells us the Sun is to be found: in the middle of everything. I would say that the Copernican system makes more sense of this passage than Aristotle’s system.’

  Castelli looked troubled. ‘I wish I had the confidence of your delivery. How I would love to explain this to the Grand Duchess.’

  ‘Then I will detail these arguments in a letter that you will take back to Pisa. Show it to the Grand Duchess – and anyone else who asks. The time for doubts is over. I will demonstrate once and for all that Copernicus is not in conflict with the Bible.’

  Castelli’s face lifted. ‘If it will help spread the true word of God, I will copy it a hundred times and send it to all corners of Christendom.’

  24

  Prague, Bohemia

  Fighting broke out again in the Old Town. In Karlova Street, Barbara sat on the bed with her arms clutching her folded legs. She rested her forehead on her knees and whimpered at every noise.

  Kepler perched nearby, attempting to read. He carried a stone of emotion inside him. Each day, it grew heavier.

  The raiders had returned under cover of darkness, and seemingly in greater numbers. There was a succession of heavy thumps. The windows rattled in the house, making Barbara cry out.

  ‘Cannons,’ said Kepler. He crept to the windows and peered through a crack in the shutters. He glimpsed a column of men in armour striding down the road. These were not irregulars; they were well disciplined and equipped. This must be Matthias’s army, arriving at last.

  ‘Papa?’

  It was Susanna at the doorway.

  ‘Child, are you feeling better?’

  She nodded as if it were a silly question, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her face was still pockmarked, but there was more colour in her cheeks. ‘Ludwig is crying.’

  Frau Bezold was already in the children’s room when Kepler arrived. ‘I think he’s hungry,’ said the housekeeper.

  ‘Thank God, they’re getting better.’

  But then they turned to Friedrich.

  ‘He’s burning up,’ said Frau Bezold.

  The children’s pustules had broken several days ago, spilling their clear fluid. While the other two had grown stronger, Friedrich continued to weaken.

  She lifted him. The boy’s body lolled in her grip.

  ‘I must fetch Doctor Reichard,’ said Kepler.

  Frau Bezold stood in his way. ‘You can’t go out just now, it’s too dangerous. What if something were to happen to you?’

  ‘What choice do I have?’ He pushed past her and fled from the house into the hot night.

  He checked the street. Figures were stationed at the mouth of the bridge. This was something new. Kepler peered at the checkpoint, eager to gauge any information he could about their identity.

  He lingered too long.

  ‘You there!’ one of them called.

  Kepler backed away.

  ‘Halt, I say. In the name of Emperor Matthias.’

  Emperor Matthias. So Rudolph’s brother must already have taken the city. A hundred questions clamoured for his attention, but he shoved them all aside and bolted for the alleyways.

  At the doctor’s house, he rapped smartly on the door. The doctor looked in need of physic himself. He wore a sweat-stained shirt and smoothed the few strands of his hair with grubby fingers. ‘Johannes, if this is about your wife …’

  ‘It’s my son, Doctor Reichard. He needs your help.’

  ‘Dysentery? It’s breaking out across the city.’

  ‘No, smallpox and fever.’

  The doctor looked over Kepler’s shoulder, surveying the street. ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kepler lied.

  ‘I’ll fetch my bag.’

  An awful sound filled the house as Kepler returned, the panting Reichard a dozen steps behind. They found Barbara lying on the floor of the bedroom, tearing at the floorboards and howling. In the corner of the room, Susanna clung to Frau Bezold, head buried in the housekeeper’s bosom, neither of them daring to approach Barbara’s stricken form.

  For a moment Kepler thought that Barbara was in the throes of another seizure, but the movements were not the same. Then he noticed Friedrich, and the reality of the situation became terribly clear.

  On the bed, his son lay completely still.

  Barbara’s wracking sobs somehow helped him keep his own composure. He kneeled slowly and ran a hand over her back. ‘Barbara,’ he said. His voice sounded stern, though that had not been his intention.

  She lashed out, arms flailing, catching him with a ragged fingernail across the eyebrows. Instinctively he raised his hand to strike back but at the last moment plunged it downward to grab her hand.

  ‘Leave me alone. Look what you’ve let happen,’ she wailed.

  He squeezed her wrists tightly. They ended up staring at each other, breathing fast and hard, tears streaming from their eyes. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she said.

  Kepler threw her hands away, jumped to his feet. Susanna was crying silently, still entwined around the housekeeper.

  The doctor knelt beside Barbara. ‘Drink this, Frau Kepler, it will help you.’ He touched a measuring glass to her dry lips. Initially she gagged on the preparation, but then seemed eager for the potent mix. Within minutes, her breathing slowed and she sat back against the bedpost, eyelids drooping.

  ‘Let’s get you into bed, madam,’ Frau Bezold said calmly. She stroked Susanna’s head and untangled the frightened child, then guided Barbara out of the children’s room.

  ‘I will arrange for an undertaker to call,’ said the doctor, ‘if they’re not already overrun.’

  Kepler nodded dumbly.

  Frau Bezold took to praying every day in the children’s room. Susanna would cry while clutching Astrid for comfort. Kepler would stand outside and listen, unwilling to step inside in case his heart truly broke. Only Ludwig was untouched by the tragedy.

  Barbara refused to get up, looked blankly at her food and would not talk. She stared at the ceiling or at the window where all she could see of the wounded city were the roofs of the houses opposite.

  One day Kepler heard Barbara’s food tray and its contents crash to the floor.

  ‘I give up with her,’ said Frau Bezold, passing him on the stairs.

  In the bedroom he cleared up the mess. ‘Barbara, you must eat. How long can you last like this?’

  She did not answer.

  He would sit often on her bed, talking about anything that came into his head. Mostly it was about his work, sometimes about their children. She rarely acknowledged his presence.

  ‘I saw Jan today at the university. He tells me that Rudolph is still a
live but confined to his Chamber of Arts. Matthias has taken over all the running of the Empire.’ There was no news of von Wackenfels. He had disappeared. ‘Let us hope my blond friend escaped in time,’ said Kepler. Anything else was unthinkable.

  The children spent time with their mother daily, but her eyes had stopped following them around the room. Everyone knew that Friedrich had been her favourite; Kepler’s too, if he were being honest. The boy had moved like her, spoken like her. His easy nature and quick smile were like the Barbara Kepler had fallen for all those years ago. The Barbara he still searched for in her eyes. But they were faded and distant, their gaze locked on something unfathomable. Occasionally they looked at her battered prayer book, but even that ritual was on the wane. As the days passed, her face began to sag and her skin took on a grey pallor.

  Frau Bezold looked after the children, becoming more of a grandmother than a housekeeper. One night she knocked gingerly on Kepler’s study door. She was sniffling as she explained that she could no longer cope. One of her last remaining teeth had simply fallen from its socket, too tired to hold on any longer. She felt the same way.

  ‘I know,’ said Kepler.

  The next day, Kepler sat on his wife’s bed. ‘There is nothing to keep me in Prague any more. I’ve been thinking that perhaps we should move on again. I thought somewhere more like Graz, back in Austria where you will feel more at home.’ He watched her, willing some kind of reaction. ‘There’s a District Mathematician needed in Linz. We could go there; somewhere with no memories, somewhere we can start again.’

  Frau Bezold entered the room carrying a pile of laundry and took off the top sheet, flapping it over the bed.

  Barbara spoke, her voice so weak it was barely recognisable. ‘Is this the cloth of redemption?’

  Kepler felt his eyes dampen with tears. ‘You have no need for that.’

  That night, Barbara’s soul departed. She released it so modestly: one moment she was alive, the next moment her jaw dropped and Kepler knew she was gone. Her body remained upright in bed, as unmoving as it had been in her last few weeks of life. He did not call out to her or shake her or make any attempt to revive her because he knew that all she had wished for was to see Friedrich again. This was the reason for her death. How could he deny her this greatest wish?