Perhaps he had missed it. Or perhaps the priest had been misinformed and the material was not here. Perhaps there was a hidden cache somewhere in the room.
No. Amaury was certain. Castell’buono was like Rabelais. He would need to thrust his thumb in the eye of his adversary. Castell’buono would hide the item of greatest value in plain sight.
Amaury quickly checked about once more. A small stack on the windowsill. Had he already looked through it? No. New material. Nothing he had seen before. His fingers worked frantically through the stack.
About halfway down, he came upon an unprepossessing bundle of papers, unbound, tied with green ribbon in a simple knot. The cover page lacked an author’s name, reading simply, “De revolutionibus orbium coelestium:” “On the revolutions of heavenly spheres.” Amaury nearly gasped. He wiped his hands on his clothing, staring as if he had just stumbled upon a lost book of Scripture. Perhaps, in a sense, he had. He reached for the manuscript, but his hand jerked away as if God was forbidding him from performing an unholy act. What might he turn loose on the world? Would he be consigned to eternal flames for this heresy? Did not all great knowledge come with a curse?
Nonsense. Such sentiment was Montaigu speaking. God smiled on reason. Castell’buono was correct about that as well.
Amaury pulled the ribbon. The green silk dropped to the side. He reached out slowly, letting his fingertips linger on the page. Finally, he turned it over. On the second page was an author’s note:
Dear friends. I have prepared this sample of my work for your comments and criticism. As you know, I have yet to complete the entire body of proof and therefore will not make these observations and calculations available to a wider audience. The first postulates on the following page will, I know, cause great consternation in some quarters and perhaps place me in personal peril, for my life or even my soul. But I cannot remain silent entirely, so I send this to you in the hopes that you will support the ideas within.
It was signed Nicolai Copernici. Frauenburg, October, 1533.
The text began on the page following. From the first, Amaury was awed by the elegant simplicity of the argument. Its obvious truth. The Earth is spherical and maintains, with the other planets, a circular orbit about the Sun. So it was true. He had known in his heart as soon as he had seen Giles’ diagram. He leafed through the pages. Yes, there it was in Book Three, about one third of the way through. The diagram Giles had copied and given to Vivienne.
Amaury devoured the information greedily. The geometry was precise, the observations detailed, the arguments explicit. Page after page of exhaustive formulae and calculations, all to prove one incontestable fact—the Earth circled the sun. The Earth, home to Man, God’s unique creation, was not the center of the universe.
Amaury heard a crackle and leapt up as if a bolt from a crossbow had been shot into the wall next to his head. But it was only the candle. Almost gone. Amaury had no time to read further. He rebound the manuscript and replaced it in the stack. He extinguished the candle and pulled the rug out from the under the door. He put his ear to the wood to listen. No sound. He swung the door open, stepped out into the hall, closed the door behind him, and locked it. Then, holding in his mind as immense a secret as had ever existed during the reign of the Lord Jesus Christ, Amaury quickly moved down the hall.
XXVII
A REVELATION SO GREAT could not be held in silence. In silence, it might merely be a dream.
By a circuitous route, Amaury made his way to Vivienne’s room. Those guests or residents whom Amaury encountered nodded perfunctorily and were on their way. He saw only one sentry, in the main hall, a bored, somnolent, gray-haired man slouched in a chair rather than standing post. Nocturnal comings and goings were apparently sufficiently commonplace in Queen Marguerite’s court that the queen had chosen discretion over security.
Vivienne opened her door quickly. She did not seem at all surprised to see him.
“How did you distract Sévrier?” he asked as soon as he was inside and the door was closed behind them.
She laughed. “With ease. I simply told him that I was certain an intruder had been in my room and that I was terrified he would return. Sévrier attempted to put me off, but I insisted Signore Castell’buono assured me that I could call on his good friend Philippe at any time if I was afraid or in need. I dragged him to my room and made certain he remained there until the candle had burned away.”
“You were alone with him in your room? But I told you—”
Vivienne giggled. “There was no danger, Amaury. He was afraid of me. I was sufficiently frantic that Sévrier likely wondered if I had become unhinged. I gave you a bit of extra time, then told the poor fool that I was exhausted and must rest. I thanked him for his invaluable assistance and shooed him out quickly. I thought you might come by.”
Amaury began to scold her for being so foolhardy, but she waved him off. “I want to know if your adventure was a success,” she said eagerly.
“Immensely so.” The instant Amaury began to speak of the wonders he had read, he forgot everything else. “This manuscript will change everything, Vivienne. A heliocentric theory of astronomy. With a precise mathematical proof. By a man named Copernici living in Poland. Astounding. I should have known from the diagram—Giles’ riddle—but the idea was too simple, too shocking.” Amaury was speaking so quickly, gesturing so emphatically, that he was unaware that only someone steeped in science would be able to follow.
“Amaury, wait,” Vivienne demanded, taking him by the wrist. “I want to understand. You know that. What does this have to do with what you told me in the field?”
“I’m sorry. It says that what I told you in the field was wrong.”
“Wrong? And you’re excited by that?”
“Let me start at the beginning. You know of the Egyptian Ptolemy’s observations. I told you when he published the Almagest, it confirmed what a Greek named Aristotle had said centuries before. Do you remember?”
She nodded.
“Aristotle wrote on many subjects—rhetoric, politics—there is almost nothing we study today, except Scripture, of course, on which Aristotle did not blaze our pathways to knowledge. Think of it, Vivienne. In astronomy, here were two men, neither Christians, who demonstrated that the universe was just as it had been described in Scripture.”
“And this was important? Why did the Church need confirmation of Scripture by pagans?”
“Because until the thirteenth century, no Christian was capable of enunciating the proof. Then the Blessed Thomas Aquinas used Aristotle’s system, backed by Ptolemy’s observations, to demonstrate that, as an axiom of True Faith, the Earth must be at the center of the universe. As Man is unique in the eye of God—at the center of Creation—so must Man’s home, Earth, be at the center of the universe. Thus, Aristotle’s system with the Earth at the center—it’s called geocentric—became not only science but a cornerstone of our Holy Church. The uniqueness of Man is basic to all Christianity, Lutherans as well as Catholics.”
“And what you found disproves what Saint Thomas said?”
“Yes. Heliocentric means that the sun is at the center; that the Earth revolves around it. So do the moon and all the other planets. The Earth is not unique in the universe at all. This means that perhaps Man is not unique in God’s eyes. He is possibly not even created in God’s image.”
“I don’t understand, Amaury. Of course Man is created in God’s image.”
“If so, it cannot be deduced from astronomy.”
“And Genesis?”
“‘In the beginning God created the heavens and the Earth’ has been taken to mean that the Earth was created before the Sun. ‘Light’ is not mentioned until Genesis 1:3, and the creation of the Sun not until 1:14. Placing the Sun in a superior position to the Earth creates doubts as to the accuracy of Scripture for both the Church and for Lutherans. All of the Church’s immutable constructs will have to be reexamined. Not doubt about the existence of God, but that only the Church c
an tell us what knowledge is, or even the nature of God Himself. In today’s world, the Church means men like Beda and Ory.”
“You disapprove of the Inquisition?”
“I loathe it. Fanatics. Persecutors. Everything Our Lord Jesus Christ would have hated.”
“But . . . so what will happen now?”
Amaury sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. Everything will change, I hope for the better. Their kind of religion—and Calvins— might well be forced to give way, replaced by a new Christianity in which science and empirical knowledge exist side by side with dogma.”
“And this pleases you, Amaury?”
“Oh, yes, Vivienne. Freeing Christians from blind adherence to dogma will allow them to be closer to God. With science and worldly knowledge will come a new tolerance bred from the awareness that not all is known. Christianity will become a religion of the present and the future, not just the past. Science will couple with love of God and lead the way to a new world. This discovery will save Christianity, not destroy it.”
“Many will disapprove.”
“Only the narrow-minded, the ignorant, and the ambitious. With the power to control the mind and soul of Man in the balance, fundamentalists in both sects will stop at nothing to suppress the new knowledge. But we who see the future of the Church must not allow the forces of reaction to prevent dissemination of this great work. We must protect both the science and the man who formulated it.”
“Yes,” Vivienne agreed. “We must.”
XXVIII
NOISE. At his bedroom door. Metallic. Hélène?
Amaury blinked his eyes open to see men burst through the doorway. Soldiers. Four of them. Why? Then, following the uniformed men, Père Louis-Paul.
Before Amaury could gather his wits sufficiently to even sit himself up, the soldiers’ hands were on him, grasping him tightly by the upper arms. The priest moved to the bed and stood over him.
“You are under arrest by order of the Inquisition,” the priest intoned.
“But—” Amaury tried to stammer a denial, but a gloved hand struck him across the mouth. His head snapped to the side and he could taste his own blood.
“You will speak only when asked,” the priest said. Cold, but with a hint of pleasure. “And you will be asked soon enough.” The priest sighed. “And don’t tire us with denials. We have proof, you see.”
The soldiers hauled Amaury to his feet. The hands were so tight on his arms that he began to lose feeling in his fingers. Before they dragged him out the door, the priest spoke again.
“And do not expect help from Her Majesty, Faverges. Queen Marguerite
takes none too kindly to guests abusing her hospitality. You are a great disappointment to her. I expect you will find your next accommodations a good deal less comfortable.”
The priest nodded and the soldiers marched Amaury out the door.
The cell was completely dark. No window. Tiny. Too low to stand up straight, too narrow to lay flat. The walls were cold stone, the floor dirt. Moisture clung to every surface; a stagnant puddle had collected in one corner. Deposited in another corner was a filthy pile of hay. Either bed or toilet.
Amaury lowered himself to a sitting position, knees drawn up, back against the stone. The moisture immediately soaked through his nightshirt, creating an icy spot on his back. After a few minutes, his eyes began to become accustomed to the gloom. He could make out a barred grate set high in the door, the vaguest light cast on the opening from a candle set somewhere in the hall outside. He raised his hand but could not see it in front of his face save to block out the light in the door.
He remembered the dungeon at the Conciergerie. Was he to become one of the pailleux, those pitiable, howling wretches, lost and abandoned without hope? Or was his lot to be tortured? Branded, limbs broken by iron bars, tongue hacked out, and finally roasted slowly, his bones thrown to the dogs?
Amaury began to shake. Vivienne. If he had been betrayed, so had she. Vivienne, thrown into one of these cells. Oh, Lord! He moaned aloud. The walls were too clammy to create an echo, but the sound caused scurrying somewhere in the dark.
Crawling. On his feet. Tiny movements. Amaury reached down and frantically brushed off the lice. No matter. Off his feet, they were on his nightshirt. An army of the foul creatures, preparing to feast on the banquet that had been deposited in their lair.
The scurrying again. Not lice. Larger. In the walls. Rats. They would not attack immediately, but rather wait for Amaury to sleep, as sleep he inevitably must. Then they would be on him, gnawing.
Suddenly, Amaury heard a loud, piercing scream. He thought at first he was not alone in the dungeons, but soon after realized that the voice had been his own.
Madness. In such a hell, does one avoid it or attempt to hasten its arrival? To be mad is to be immune. No. He would not lose his reason. He would not.
He swatted at the lice, knowing their assault would be inexorable but determined to inflict casualties of his own. The rats could be kept at bay with noise and movement. Amaury stood slowly, feeling with his hands to avoid striking his head on the ceiling. He could straighten his legs by keeping his shoulders hunched and his head down, or straighten his torso by bending his knees.
Time and space. Must keep track of both in a place with no day and no night. Amaury tried to scuttle from one side of the cell to the other, to get dimensions, some measure of length and width so that he could at least perform basic mathematical exercises. Next he counted, trying to imbed some standard of time on his brain.
After a time—he could not tell if it was long or short—Amaury grew terribly fatigued. His joints ached. His muscles were leaden. He was shivering uncontrollably. But worst of all, he could not keep count. He would reach a number and then forget. And he knew that, once forgotten, his sense of time was lost forever.
He had lost his guideposts. Was it day or night? Had he been in the dungeon hours or days? How long since he had eaten? Slept? Exhausted, he slumped to the floor, once again drawing up his knees and leaning against the stone wall. The lice were on him instantly, but he had lost the strength to fight them off. At least the rats . . .
Ahhh! Amaury screamed, shocked awake by pain at his feet. He kicked wildly, screaming all the while. The rat, interrupted in its meal, dashed off. To wait.
Time passed. But how much? Amaury could not count. He felt the beat of his heart. Heard the sound in the silence, echoing in his ears. Too slow? The lice feasted. Amaury allowed them his body. Too tired to fight. Lassitude. Madness would surely follow. But how long?
Then, noise. Not the rats. Voices. People. The light outside the bars in the door grew brighter. Amaury tried to pull himself up, but his arms and legs seemed weighted. A key in the lock. The door opened. Brilliant light. Blinding. Amaury threw his hands up before his eyes. But it was only a candle. Held by a soldier. With Père Louis-Paul following inside. Another soldier brought a chair so the priest would not be forced to bend.
Amaury blinked, trying to clear his head. Don’t give him satisfaction. Like Ravenau and the beatings at Montaigu.
“Well, Faverges, I see you have settled in. I’m pleased to see you are comfortable. You might be here for some time. Or perhaps a very short time.”
Amaury stared up but could make out only the priest’s outline. In the candlelight, everything seemed to exist in shadow.
“We are aware of everything, you know,” the priest went on. “You might as well confess your sins. An honest confession this time. It might save you a good deal of discomfort.”
Vivienne. “You tortured a woman?” Amaury could not recognize the scraping, halting voice as his own. “And you claim to speak for God.”
“Torture a woman? I believe you have lost your reason, Faverges. To be honest, I thought you would hold out longer.”
“How else could you coerce Vivienne to betray me? You are an abomination, priest.”
“Coerce? You think I coerced Vivienne? Oh, Faverges, you are a fool.”
/> Then Amaury knew the truth. A fool. Yes. At the least. He turned away. Please, Lord, just let the priest leave him to die.
But Père Louis-Paul had not entered the cell to leave matters half resolved. “Take him!” he ordered.
Each of the soldiers grabbed Amaury by an arm and pulled them back until his face was on the floor next to the priest’s sandals. The pain in his shoulders was searing. Amaury felt saliva running from his mouth, but refused to cry out.
“Now, you traitorous heretic, you will hear the truth. Do you agree?”
Amaury made no sound.
A terrible pain suddenly shot through him, beginning from where the soldier kicked him in the genitals, radiating to every spot in his body. For a few moments he was blind. He heard himself moan and cursed the sound.
“I will accept that noise as assent,” the priest said. He nodded to one of the soldiers, and Amaury’s head was pulled back by the hair until he was forced to look at the priest.
“Good,” Père Louis-Paul said. “Now we can speak. I would like to read you this letter. It is from your Vivienne. The handwriting is my own, since, as you know, the young woman lacks the necessary skills. I can assure you, however, that this is an accurate rendering of her words.” The priest delicately cleared his throat.
My dear Amaury. We have shared a glorious journey together. I pray you willfind it in your heart to forgive what you are about to hear.
How I was chosen I do not know, but one day, under the guise ofa summons to ply my profession at the home of a customer, I was taken to a small house in La Ville. Magister Ory was there. He was a kind man, not at all like he is painted by the Lutherans. He told me that those who serve the True Church can be absolved of sin. That the Holy Father himself was prepared to grant such absolution. Magister Ory promised that if I accepted a mission, on its completion he would personally gain me acceptance to the convent of the Sisters of Sainte Clare at Rouen. Admittance to that convent is generally reserved only for those of high birth.
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