The Astronomer

by Lawrence Goldstone

  “Ory has dispatched a team of killers to Poland. He did so with great concealment but, as I said, there are no secrets in the Louvre. They have, I have been told, already left the city for Calais. From there they will charter a galley. I suspect they will disembark in Hamburg, rather than traverse the Danish peninsula. Then overland to Lübeck, where they will likely charter another boat.”

  “Did you learn anything of the assassins’ identities, Your Eminence?”

  The cardinal shook his head. “There are four. That’s all I know.”

  “I believe I know the men.”

  “You? How?”

  “That’s unimportant, Your Eminence. But the knowledge will give us at least one small advantage. Still, we cannot hope to overtake them if we merely mimic their route. We must travel overland.”

  “But land travel is slower still.”

  “Perhaps. But we will need some luck in any event, and March is a stormy month. Their progress on the water might be slower than they imagine.”

  “Then they will put in and travel by land.”

  “No. If I’m correct about the identity of their leader, they will stay on the boat, where he can remain belowdecks during the day.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “This man will not travel by daylight in an open coach. And a closed one would attract too much attention, especially as he moves through the German states. No, he will stay on the boat.”

  D’Aubuisson shrugged. “If you say so. I don’t know very much of such things, I’m afraid. In any event, it is no longer safe for you to leave the city openly, even under my auspices. We will have to smuggle you out. It should be a simple matter, however. We will secret you in the back of the cart. Père Étienne will drive. I’ve already arranged horses and provisions to be waiting for you outside the city. You’ll find the clothing suitable for a journey north. I have written a letter that will ensure you safe passage through France. It might have benefit with Church authorities in Poland as well, although Poles are notoriously clannish. They might resent interference by a French cardinal. You’ll have to judge for yourself when you arrive there.

  “I’ve assigned servants to travel with you and a guard to see you across France. Two men whose skill and discretion I can personally vouch for. Père Étienne has volunteered to go as well.”

  Amaury shook his head. “The guards will be welcome. But no servants. And as much as we value Père Étienne and are flattered by his offer, he should remain with you in this perilous time.”

  The priest made to protest, but his relief was apparent.

  “Impossible,” the cardinal snapped. “You cannot travel alone with my niece on such a journey. Out of the question. Germany is not France, you know. It’s a land of barbarians. I can do nothing. They will murder you for a shoe.”

  But Amaury would not be moved. “I’m sorry, Your Eminence, but we must go alone. This is not an adventure to be shared with even trusted lips. We will see to our own needs. And as we will be passing through territory where Lutheranism abounds, Père Étienne’s presence could prove more bane than advantage. I am as cognizant of the dangers of the journey as are you. I won’t expose Hélène where it can be helped. I intend to engage mercenaries at each stage of the journey for protection.”

  “Mercenaries can be as dangerous as bandits.”

  “True. But in such a case, servants would be of little assistance. And Père Étienne is a man of peace. No, Your Eminence. We will travel alone. We would welcome your prayers, however. If this journey is to have a successful end, we will need the blessings of God.”

  The cardinal began to protest further, but then his shoulders sagged. He was in no position to insist. “I shall pray that you have them, then.”

  “Thank you, Your Eminence. I will return Hélène safely. You have my word. One more thing. A girl brought the material to Ory. Escorted by six soldiers. Do you know what became of her?”

  “Yes. She was immediately escorted to a set of rooms with guards posted outside. Only Ory himself spoke with her. After a bit, she was sent to Rouen. To a convent.”

  Amaury smiled. “I’m pleased to hear that.”

  “An odd reaction to the person who betrayed you.”

  “She was completely innocent of spirit. I can’t wish her ill, no matter what she’s done. She will find peace in the convent.”

  “More peace than those four she denounced.”

  Hélène moved forward and placed her hand on the cardinal’s cheek. “Thank you, Uncle. For everything. Don’t fear for me. I have never felt more that my life had meaning.”

  D’Aubuisson nodded sadly. “It is unfortunate that so often giving life meaning involves taking an inordinate risk of ending it.”

  XLII

  PHILIPPE HAD REFUSED to speak. He had been beaten by both the onlookers and the gendarmes, then hauled across the plaza in front of the smoldering pyres, the smell of charred flesh filling his nostrils. Ory and some soldiers had set off in pursuit of Faverges. Philippe was puzzled as to why, if Faverges was Ory’s man, he had fled, and why Ory had then personally led the pursuit. Perhaps the playlet was a ruse to protect the informers identity. Perhaps now that the manuscript was in Ory’s hands, Faverges did not trust that the Inquisitor would not have him eliminated to protect the secret. But whatever the circumstances, Philippe had reconciled himself to never leaving this building alive. But far worse than the forfeiture of his own life was the knowledge that the cursed Savoyard had been clever yet again. Instead of Faverges lying in the street and Philippe on his way east, it was the other way round.

  After some moments on the floor of the Conciergerie, kicked at by guards, Philippe had been dragged across the floor and thrown into a cell. He was expecting the dungeons, and so was surprised to be deposited aboveground in a cell with a pallet of straw on which to sleep. A bucket of clean water was in one corner. The accommodations even included a table with two chairs.

  Philippes ribs ached terribly. Every time he breathed deeply, pain stabbed him in the side—ironic, he thought, for a man who killed with a knife. He had lost two teeth. He knew, however, not to lie down or to drink the water; not to become too comfortable in these lavish surroundings. The shock of torture would be that much worse. Instead he merely rinsed his mouth and sat in a chair to wait.

  How had Ory known? The way the Inquisitor had yelled across the plaza, Philippe had no doubt he had been recognized. The priest? That a messenger from the south could have arrived here before him seemed impossible. More likely someone in Paris. Either another informer or a member of the Brotherhood who had been caught and tortured. Poor Broussard, most likely. He had never liked the bookseller, but that anyone should endure so hideous a death was an affront.

  Philippe sat completely still, comforted by the throbbing in his ribs and the taste of blood in his mouth. His injuries left him feeling like a martyr. He should pray, he knew, but he felt that somehow prayer would lessen the significance of his sacrifice. He was, he realized, impatient to have his fate decided. If he must burn, let them get to it.

  After some time had passed—Philippe could not be sure how much—he heard scuffling in the hall. Then the door opened and Ory walked in.

  The Inquisitor entered alone, a soft, soundless walk, motioning for the door to be closed behind him. He stood for a moment opposite his prisoner, his expression placid, his eyes cold. Then he pulled out the other chair and sat across the table from Philippe.

  “Tu es fortis vir,” he said softly, speaking in Latin. “You are a brave man. I admire such courage. I urge you to speak openly. If you answer my questions honestly, no harm will come to you.”

  Philippe regarded the black-robed man. Torturer, murderer, defiler of the word of Christ. Now trying a new role. Trusted confidant. Philippe had prepared himself for torture; he had prepared himself for the flames; but flattery from the Inquisitor? He refused, however, to condescend to such foolishness. He merely sat and returned Ory’s stare.

  “I don’t
know why you are being so obdurate,” Ory went on. “We are, after all, working to the same ends, are we not? Protection of the True Faith from the corruption of the heretics.”

  Then Philippe understood. He had not been betrayed. Ory had received no notice of a Lutheran assassin masquerading as a Franciscan. In fact, no one even knew Philippe was here. Ory, therefore, thought Philippe to be precisely what he appeared to be. A fanatical friar bent on assassination. Mad perhaps. But madness would only make him more appealing.

  Philippe sharpened his gaze to bore into the Inquisitor’s eyes. Only a madman would do that, he thought. “I work to no one,” he grunted. “Only to God.”

  “Of course,” Ory replied, his voice even more soothing. “I appreciate your zeal.”

  “If you had not interfered, that heretic would already be on his way to Hell.”

  “My apologies,” Ory said, heaving an exaggerated sigh. “Those fools in the crowd misunderstood my meaning. I wanted them to hold the heretic, not you. I could see from across the plaza that you were doing God’s work.”

  Lord knew, Philippe felt grateful for the misunderstanding—if it was a misunderstanding, and not just a ploy to cause him to betray himself— but he was now more confused than ever. He could sort out his confusion later, however. He dared not let it show to Ory.

  “And now? Who will do God’s work now?” He raised his right arm. “This was to be the instrument of God’s justice.” He scowled and shook his head.

  “God’s justice may be delayed,” Ory said, “but you and I both know that the Lord is never denied.”

  Philippe did not reply but rather waited, his eyes never losing their fire, never moving from Ory’s.

  “I don’t see why either of us should be frustrated in our aims, Frère . . . ”

  “Jean-Marie.”

  “Frère Jean-Marie. All you need do is explain the circumstances that led you here.”

  “I work to no man.”

  “No, no, of course not. I only wish to fully understand the actions of one who so obviously sits in the light of God.”

  Philippe made to consider the request, to be engaging in internal debate as to whether to confide in even so lofty a personage as the Inquisitor. “Very well,” he said finally. “The heretic’s name is Amaury de Faverges. I have been following him from Nérac. I nearly overtook him outside the city walls, but he is clever.”

  “And the woman?”

  “Hélène d Artigny de Mainz. Faverges has either persuaded or coerced her to help him in his plans.”

  “That explains the cardinals letter,” Ory muttered, more to himself than to Philippe. “And what are his plans?” he asked his captive.

  “I’m not certain. The blessed priest in Nérac told me that the heretic intended to perpetrate one of the greatest crimes ever against the True Church. If he succeeded, apocalypse could follow. That Faverges must be stopped at all costs. He entrusted me with the task . . . ”

  “He chose well. But I heard that the authorities in Nérac believed Faverges and the woman to be headed to Savoy.”

  So a messenger had arrived. “Initially, yes. That is what everyone believed. I told you Faverges was clever. Fortunately, the priest discovered the truth. I’m not certain how.”

  Ory considered this. Philippe realized that perhaps a second messenger was on his way.

  “This priest’s name?” the Inquisitor asked.

  “Père Louis-Paul.”

  “I believe I know him.”

  “Confessor to Queen Marguerite. A thankless task that he performs with grace.”

  “Thankless?”

  “You of all people must know that her court is a hotbed of traitors and heretics.”

  “Yes. It must have been a trial for a believer such as yourself to exist there. So what will you do now, Frère Jean-Marie?”

  “In prison, you mean?”

  “I mean if you were not in prison.”

  “I would pursue this Faverges to the gates of Hell, but first I would need to find out his destination. I assume the cursed Lutherans will aid him in fleeing the city.”

  “If I believed what you’ve told me, Frère Jean-Marie, perhaps God would have smiled on you after all.” The Inquisitor pushed back his chair. “But I don’t.”

  XLIII

  Elbing, Poland, April 11, 1534

  THREE WEEKS. Longer than Amaury had thought. But that was because he had never before been in the east. Never comprehended the terrible roads, lack of bridges, endless stretches of forest; the utter wilderness of eastern Germany and Poland. Bloodthirsty tales of the Teutonic knights made more sense to him now. Anyone reared in such conditions would fight with feral desperation. In truth, he and Hélène had been fortunate to arrive in this walled city in only three weeks. From here, only one day to Frauenburg, perhaps two.

  The early days had belied what was to come. Through France and the Low Countries, the cardinal’s letter had opened every door, ensured them of fine accommodations, appetizing food, and, best of all, discretion. Amaury’s arm healed and he felt stronger than he had in months. The two guards who accompanied them had little to do but ride in front and behind and appear stoic.

  They left d’Aubuisson’s men at the German border but had no trouble obtaining replacements. The innkeeper suggested four rather than a pair of guards, but quoted a price a good deal less than Amaury would have expected for just two. The quartet turned out to be brothers, unkempt, dull-witted, and vulgar, but with a blatant savagery that would intimidate all but the most stouthearted bandit. Barbarians evidently had their advantages, and came cheaply besides.

  Although they had entered Germany in the north, whenever Hélène mentioned that she was the widow of Wilhelm of Mainz, they were received with deference. Hélène’s knowledge of the language further ensured amicable hospitality wherever they stopped. Germany wasn’t France, but for three days they traveled easily and rested comfortably. No one at the inns inquired whether they were Catholic or Lutheran or why they traveled with no servants. To Amaury’s surprise, no one looked askance at the brothers who, after their charges were safe for the night, drank copiously until dawn. Amaury wondered if they ever slept at all.

  The weather had held, one sunny day after another, allowing for excellent progress. Of course, good weather would favor Liebfreund as well, but the sea was notoriously fickle and perhaps conditions were not so propitious on the water. In any case, after a week Amaury had begun to feel a tentative confidence that they might indeed arrive at Frauenburg before Liebfreund and his killers.

  The next day, Amaury’s optimism received a jolt.

  They had gone down to breakfast to discover that the brothers, who had been retained to guide them through to Dömitz on the Elbe, had abandoned them and returned west. When Amaury asked if they had given any reason for their departure, the innkeeper merely shrugged. Amaury scoured the town and finally engaged three local men of high repute as fighters, only to be warned by the innkeeper that they had even higher repute as thieves. He and Hélène were forced to wait the better part of a day whilst a rider was sent to the local landgrave to request reliable men.

  The men arrived in midafternoon, two large, thickset brutes, even more bestial than the four they had replaced. The party set out immediately and, ten minutes outside the town, entered a pine forest so thick that the sky was visible only in sporadic blinks. Much of the next ten days was spent amidst these trees with their thick, enormous trunks that seemed to have filled the landscape since creation.

  The landgrave’s men were dour and taciturn, but clearly adept. One always rode ahead to scout; the other trailed sufficiently to provide ample warning of any attempt to surprise them from the rear. Their hands were never far from the shafts of their lances or the hilts of their swords.

  Sometimes there were roads, sometimes not. Sometimes what seemed like a road ended abruptly, leaving one of the guards to lead them through almost impenetrable underbrush. On each of these occasions, Amaury rode with his hand on
his sword, expecting betrayal. Landgrave’s men or no, there was no telling when the lure of gold coins might overwhelm feudal loyalty. But each time they eventually emerged to find that the road had picked up as precipitously as it had ended.

  Within this part of the forest there were no villages, no inns. They ate the provisions they had packed and slept outdoors under bearskin quilts. The guards took turns at watch. They refused Amaury’s offer to stand a watch himself, but still Amaury slept only in starts.

  Hélène had changed drastically since Nérac. She spoke rarely and smiled even less. She was unconcerned that her hair had matted and her clothing was soiled. Small lines had sprouted on her forehead and about her eyes. She looked older and resolute. But within her purposefulness lay an odd tranquillity. Amaury thought the changes had made Hélène even more beautiful.

  After a few days they came to enjoy the sights and smells of the woods at the end of winter. Freshly thawed soil, rich and dark, soft with newly melted snow, poised to erupt with foliage; trees verged to explode in a canopy of leaves. Even under bare trees, they lived in dappled light. The silence was so regular that any sound—a foraging bear in the distance, a bird, a squirrel moving through the brush—rang as clearly as if it had been produced next to his ear. Amaury scoffed to himself when he remembered being frightened with Vivienne outside Pithiviers in what seemed now to be merely a dot of trees.

  Amaury knew, however, that the tranquillity was an illusion that could be shattered at any moment. Toward the end of the third day, it was. As they were riding through a dense copse, a huge boar suddenly charged from the brush directly at Hélène’s mount. She pulled the reins to avoid the creature, but the boar was remarkably quick for a beast of such bulk. Amaury drew his sword and tried to maneuver himself between Hélène and the boar, but his horse shied. He was about to jump down and engage the beast on foot when suddenly the boar shrieked, a lance protruding from his left flank. The boar spun and made to charge at his tormenter when a second lance pierced his other flank. Another shriek and the animal began running blindly in circles. Moments later, it dropped.