The Alchemist of Rome

by M C Dulac

  While they brooded, I went to explore the crypt. There in the flickering candlelight, I found a painting by Caravaggio. I asked a priest how they came to have this painting, and he explained that Caravaggio had once been a Knight of Malta, before he had been expelled from the Order for fighting.

  I hoped Caravaggio’s work would uplift me, but his painting of the severed head of John the Baptist was gruesome. I stared at the hideous eyes and the blood and the flesh of the dead man. Caravaggio’s realism was no longer beautiful, but horrifying. It was as though my world had changed, and there was nowhere to hide or dream any longer.

  Schumann waited each day and night for a message from the Knights. We tried to concoct the elixir of life ourselves, but succeeded only in filling the cellar with vile fumes. Another experiment was more successful. Once we acquired mercury, we were able to make gold. Schumann looked at our first coins with approval.

  Carissa’s moods continued to cast a gloom over the house. Her treatment of the maids made me wince. We often heard her storming through the halls before she threw open the door to the cellar, demanding we find the elixir. But the secrets of alchemy and the alchemists of Malta evaded us.

  Then one night, a letter arrived. Schumann ripped it open, hobbling as fast as he could across the courtyard, “Get our finest clothes ready, Antonio,” he said, “We are going to the Grand Master’s palace.”

  “He will meet us at last?” Carissa said.

  “Tomorrow night is the masked ball at the end of the festival. We shall have our chance then. Hurry, Antonio.”

  I unpacked his fine frock coat and found Carissa a scarlet dress. I was sent out to acquire new and extravagant wigs for them both, as well as long gloves and cravats.

  They should have looked magnificent. Instead, when they dressed for the ball the next evening, they sent a shiver down my spine. Their bloodshot eyes blazed through the eyeholes of their masks and they walked with neither the lightness of youth nor the dignity of age. They were not sick in any recognisable way, but they sent a chill through my bones as though they carried the plague. Even the driver shivered as he helped them into the carriage.

  The Grand Master’s palace was in the centre of Valletta. We strode through the colonnades and into the courtyard. In the extravagantly dressed crowd, Schumann and Carissa were less noticeable, although people kept their distance as they walked by. Only I sipped the fine champagne. Schumann glared when he saw me, telling me to finish it quickly.

  I sensed that Schumann was anxious. He and Carissa were too weak to join in the dance. Schumann kept scanning the crowd, as though he were looking for someone. He said he would join us later. Carissa wanted to go to the colonnade upstairs, so we watched the knights and their ladies dancing from above.

  “None of these women know how to dress,” Carissa muttered.

  “Missing your friends in Naples then?”

  I shivered in the glare of her bloodshot eyes.

  “You must have been angry the day you mistook me for Price,” I went on, “All that effort for nothing.”

  “But it worked didn’t it?” she tilted her head coquettishly.

  I placed my hands behind my back and looked over the balcony. I had never spoken to her since that first meeting in the garden. Now I realised the meeting was as rehearsed as the musicians below. And it had worked. I was as blinded by her beauty as Price had been.

  “Price was the easiest conquest I ever had,” she said proudly, “I was glad he was not ugly, for I did not know what to expect. Although he bored me to death. Always talking about books and flowers, and making me sit in the library for hours.”

  “So it was all a lie,” I felt bitter, thinking of Price’s devotion.

  “He was a fool.”

  “He was a good master.”

  “All men are fools,” she said, “You must make them adore you.”

  “And then betray them?”

  “Before they betray you. Take what you can, when you can, Antonio.”

  A young Knight came towards us, clad in a fine coat and powdered wig. He had a gold watch chain and a sash across his chest; he must have been important. Carissa eyes flickered and she curtseyed. But Carissa had lost her power over men now. She moved with an eerie slowness, like a marionette with broken strings. The young Knight bowed, but recoiled quickly, as though he sensed something was wrong.

  Her head shook, as though she could not bear to face what she had become.

  “Where is Otto?” her voice was a whisper, “We must find the elixir.”

  “Do you love Schumann?”

  Her head snapped toward me, “Are you really that stupid, Antonio? I bet you sat in church and believed all the lies they told you. There is no love. Otto and I understand each other. He was rich and I was poor, but we both know, that the world belongs to those who grab it.”

  “Like the way you grabbed the green elixir.”

  “I will hit you when we get home.”

  I knew she was not joking. I had dodged her blows before.

  “Bring me a chair,” she said, and I went off in search of one.

  Schumann had approached two finely dressed gentleman in the courtyard. They bowed their heads as he pleaded with them. Although the mask covered his face, I guessed his words from his desperate gestures.

  The men nodded and led him through a doorway. Half an hour later he returned. He made his way through the swirling dancers and walked up the stairs to where Carissa was sitting and I was standing.

  “Let us go now.”

  “Do you have the elixir?” Carissa said.

  “No, and we are in danger if we talk of such things. But I have the name of a man who can help us.”

  Carissa rose. We walked fast along the halls.

  “Let us go to him now.”

  Our carriage was waiting. Schumann hushed her until we were safely inside.

  “He is not in Valletta.”

  “Then where is he?”

  “There is a city on the plains. Mdina.”

  “How far?”

  “A few hours drive. We cannot risk going in daylight and it is almost dawn. We must wait until the sun sets tomorrow.”

  “Mdina,” Carissa repeated.

  “They call it the Silent City.”

  “We do not have long, Otto,” Carissa said. I thought she might have been weeping.

  “Tomorrow, my dear,” Schumann said.

  He banged on the roof, and our carriage lurched into the night.

  chapter eighteen

  The next evening we left Valletta through the massive city gates. Our carriage followed the course of the city aqueduct into the countryside. The lights of Valletta soon faded behind us. The fields were grey, and a dry wind rattled the brittle grasses. The moon emerged from the clouds and shone down on treeless fields. There were only a few villages on the plains and the occasional distant light broke the monotony of our journey. We traveled along the godforsaken track for several hours.

  Then ahead I saw a mighty hilltop city. In the valley before the hill were trees and groves - the first I had seen in this strange land. We wound up a steep road and then stopped before the city gates. Our carriage was allowed to enter and we rolled into a grand square.

  “This is Mdina?” Carissa whispered.

  “Yes, the city of the Maltese nobility. The Holy Roman Emperor gave Malta to the Knights of St John two hundred years ago, and the Knights made Valletta their harbour and capital. But it is here, in this ancient city of Mdina, where the old families live.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Behind these walls. That is why they call it the Silent City.”

  I gazed at the massive cathedral, from which came beautiful and ominous music. The carriage rolled through narrow streets, lined with townhouses as impressive as those in Valletta. We came to a halt before a palazzo. The driver helped Schumann from the carriage and servants opened the doors onto a courtyard. Schumann and Carissa went straight to their rooms to rest. I walked around the
tinkling fountains and the exotic gardens, and then explored the rooms upstairs. I reached the rooftop and gazed over the plains which stretched out to the moonlit sea.

  The stillness of the night was broken by a noise below. A carriage had arrived. A lady in a cloak stepped out and the door of the palazzo opened. I watched as Schumann greeted the lady and led her inside.

  I crept down the steps from the roof. Schumann and his guest were in a sitting room. The windows were open, for the night was mild.

  “I will do what I can for you,” the woman spoke Italian.

  “I need help, Livia, please.”

  “What you speak of is the most holy secret of the Order. If this elixir exists, it is strongly protected.”

  “The elixir of life exists, for there is a man called Albert Price, out there in the world. He is more than one hundred years old and looks no more than twenty. I have in my party a servant who took one sip of this elixir and can survive without food or water. I have here,” Schumann struggled to untie a pouch around his waist, “Gold, which I have made in my own furnace in Valletta, using the books that Albert Price left behind.”

  “Be careful, Otto. You have no power here. If you can make gold in a furnace, you might be imprisoned, and forced to work in a goldmine of your own creation.”

  “I know the dangers. But you must help me, Livia! I am dying.”

  The woman called Livia reached forward. Her elegant hands touched Schumann’s cheek, “I do not know what has happened to you, Otto. These elixirs are great mysteries.”

  “But what of Fonseca, the Grand Master of the Knights? Is not his youth due to his private alchemist?”

  “The elixir has prolonged Fonseca’s life but he will not live forever.”

  “Surely the elixir that prolongs life will repair whatever this evil brew is destroying.”

  “I will speak with my friend now. He is both a member of the old nobility and a Knight of the Order. If he can help you, I will send word.”

  “How long?”

  “I will let you know as soon as I hear.”

  “It must be tonight. I cannot go out in daylight. And Livia - I may not have long.”

  Livia nodded and clutched the glittering rosary around her neck.

  A servant escorted her to her carriage. Schumann sank into a chair. Hours ticked by. I could not sleep and sat alone on the rooftop gazing at the stars. Then, well after midnight, there was a knock on the door.

  I was the only servant awake. I ran downstairs and opened the door. A figure handed me a note. The boy was gone before I could speak. I took the note to Schumann and he ripped it open.

  “Come, Antonio. Wake Carissa. We must go now.”

  “Do you need the carriage?”

  “We go on foot.”

  The city was deserted and silent. Grand palazzos lined the way, doors and shutters closed. There were neither flares in the street nor candles in the windows, and the moon was our only guide. We walked on until we reached the highest point of the city. We climbed a set of steps and came to a terrace. I looked around, but there was no one there.

  Then I saw a man walking towards us in the darkness.

  Schumann bowed, “Thank you, sir.”

  The man had a white beard and wore fine clothes. His eyes glowed blue in the dark. I had not seen that unnatural glow since I had last seen Price. The stranger nodded to Schumann, then stared at me, “Who are you?”

  “That is my servant,” Schumann said, quickly.

  “Are you an alchemist?”

  Schumann answered for me, “No, he was servant to an alchemist, Albert Price.”

  “I have never heard of Price. He is not of our Order.”

  “He is famous in the north.”

  “Albert Price. A very ordinary name. In my time, alchemists were much more flamboyant.”

  “In your time?” Carissa stared at him.

  “Indeed, my lady. I am over one hundred and fifty years old. Did your servant mix the elixirs for Price?”

  “Price mixed them, and the servant drank them, without his knowing.”

  The old man sighed.

  “Are you an alchemist?” Carissa snapped.

  “I know many of its secrets, more than any other among the Order. You must understand that the elders, those men and women who discovered the secrets of alchemy thousands of years ago, had good reason for limiting the knowledge. They had in their hands all that humanity craved - the elixirs of youth, of life and of love, and the ability to create any metal on earth. They could have been gods or they could have been tyrants. So the wise ones decided, that only those with pure hearts could ascend to the highest orders of the alchemists.”

  “I don’t want to know everything,” Schumann said, “I just want to save myself. Sir, my friend Livia says you can help us.”

  “It appears the alchemist who taught Albert Price was more powerful than I. I have been able to survive all these years, because I do not know too much. If Albert Price was educated outside our brotherhood, he carries the full burden of its knowledge.”

  “Sir, you are a man of medicine,” Schumann pleaded.

  “I am. Was Price a friend of yours?”

  “I met him on my travels. He had journeyed south and was working alone in a palazzo on the Amalfi Coast. There were rumours -”

  “Rumours that Price made gold?”

  “Yes, he was making gold for the Duke of Sicily.”

  “So what did you do? Tell the King? Try to steal Price’s knowledge? Did you want him imprisoned so you could make him work like a hen producing golden eggs? Was the allure of gold and youth so strong, you rushed headlong into his realm without fear or conscience?”

  Schumann hung his head, “Yes, yes. I have done wrong. But please, help me!”

  “So you thought you were drinking life, but instead you drank death,” the old man said, “Yet this young man, your servant, drank life, without knowing. Why so?”

  He came close to me. He reminded me of the monk in Naples, who examined the sick children, “Why did you drink the elixir, young man?”

  “I was curious, sir. I had seen Price drink it.”

  “Ah, you are a true youth. Reckless but innocent in your desires. Does fate see our true natures, I wonder? Does it realise when we mean no harm and thus keep us safe?” He turned and looked at Carissa and Schumann, “Or does it look into our souls and punish us for our greed and impertinence?”

  “We will kill you, old man,” Carissa said, “If you do not help us.”

  I saw the glint of a knife under her dress. Maybe Schumann was right. The catastrophe had turned her mad.

  Luckily the old man saw the knife and stepped away. He was surprisingly quick on his feet. It was then I noticed two guards, waiting in the shadows.

  Schumann raised his hand, “You must excuse my young friend, sir. All this has been a terrible ordeal for her. I understand your interest in philosophy, and at another time would be most willing to discuss it with you. However, I believe in neither God nor fate. I am ill and I seek a cure.”

  “Indeed,” the Knight looked warily at Carissa, “What happened when you drank?”

  “A fire,” Schumann said, “A fire in my mouth and through my organs. I should have died, but I have not. And then my skin turned grey and wrinkled. I lost my strength and my bones creak. My eyes burn and my throat aches. I move like a corpse. I am dying, sir.”

  The Knight lowered his voice, “It appears Price was experimenting with the elixir of decay. I have read of such an elixir in the sacred texts. Just as some particles revive us, some break down the atoms of our beings.”

  “Price is a devil!” cried Carissa.

  “Did he give it to you, my dear?”

  “No,” she shook her head.

  “I guess, he told this servant to destroy it. Were you about to pour it away when you were caught, young man?”

  I nodded as those blue eyes bored into me.

  “So it is not Price’s fault that this happened. The elixir o
f decay is as intriguing as the elixir of life, although very dangerous.”

  “But it can be reversed, surely,” Schumann said, “We should be dead by now.”

  “You are dying, but it may take time.”

  “How long?”

  “Ten years. Maybe more, maybe less.”

  Carissa cursed worse than I had ever heard from a sailor in Naples. Then she dropped her voice, “I will stab you through the heart and throw your organs to the dogs, old fool, if you do not give us the elixir of life!”

  “Control your young friend, Schumann,” the Knight said.

  Schumann nodded to me. I held Carissa’s arms, even though she continued to curse.

  “Come here,” the Knight said. He reached forward with the confident hands of an experienced physician. He lifted her veil, looked into her eyes and turned her chin from side to side. Then he looked at her palms and wrists. He did the same with Schumann.

  “You have drunk much of the elixir of decay,” he said, “A full glass?”

  “Yes. But surely the elixir of life can reverse it?” Schumann pleaded.

  “What do you expect it to do?”

  “To,” Schumann paced around, “To cure as fresh spring water clears the mind after a night of wine. Life can destroy death.”

  The Knight stepped back, “No.”

  “No? What do you mean, no?”

  “It does not work that way. And now I have seen you, I am afraid,” he paused, “There is nothing I can do.”

  “Please, surely in all the books, there must be a way.”

  The Knight shook his head, “I am the greatest alchemist in Christendom. There is nothing in the books of alchemy that will help you.” His eyes were troubled. He turned around and began walking across the terrace, followed by his guards.

  Schumann began to weep. His tears filled the night and the darkness seemed to reflect our future.

  * * * * *

  We left Mdina that night. Our carriage raced along the cobblestone streets, over the bridge and across the plains. Schumann and Carissa were trapped by their fate. I was trapped by the knowledge that they could return me to prison and have me executed whenever they wished. The forbidding countryside stretched out, broken only by the sight of the fortress city receding behind us. Valletta lay ahead - but what then? We had reached the edge of Christendom, and no one could help us.