by Stuart Clark
With a grunt of exertion, The Bear lumbered into motion, headed for the front door and, all too soon, was gone into the night. Only then did Kepler’s mind fill with the questions he should have asked.
Turning back towards the party, he all but collided with the loitering Tengnagel. ‘Do excuse me, Junker Tengnagel.’
‘You are acquainted with The Bear, Herr Kepler.’
‘I am not. I’ve simply had dealings with him.’ Kepler walked on, sensing the other man’s eyes following him back into the reception.
It was long past midnight when Kepler followed his wife to the bedroom. Downstairs, a few guests still lingered, seemingly content to see the celebration through to the dawn.
‘You are showing much courage tonight, wife.’ Kepler planted kisses on her exposed neck and chest. Her skin tasted sweet to his wine-moistened lips.
She pushed herself further into his caress. ‘It’s the fashion. And I need one of those tapered bodices – all the ladies were wearing them tonight.’
‘I didn’t notice,’ he said.
‘Really? They were so beautiful.’
‘There is only one star in my Heaven.’ He kissed her firmly on the lips, thrilled by the hunger with which she responded. He pressed her to the bed, the alcohol accentuating the dizziness of their fall.
‘Think of how we got here,’ he said. ‘I would not have thought it so sweet to suffer the injury and indignity of being forced to abandon house, fields, friends and homeland for religious belief. If this is also the way with real martyrdom, how much bigger the exultation must be to actually die for one’s faith.’
‘Oh, husband, you do choose your moments to say such funny things.’
‘Then I will stop talking.’ Kepler let his hands rove across the swell of her torso, finding the laces on her dress.
‘Oh, I can’t wait for you to undo all of those.’ Giggling, she grabbed at her skirts and petticoats, and bundled them upwards, covering her face.
Later, she lay gazing at the ornate ceiling; her arms swept back on the pillow, her breathing deep and contented. ‘So many people of such high standing,’ she mused. ‘Once we look the part, we will have no problem finding you a job among them.’
Kepler laughed beside her. Shading his eyes with his hand, he pretended to look into the distance. ‘It is to noble Tycho that I fix my gaze. He is my prince, and at his side will I find my station. Once I am established, I will send for you. In the meantime, the Baron has agreed you can stay here.’
‘Yes, but if it doesn’t work out at Tycho’s …’
Kepler silenced her with a gentle kiss. ‘It will.’
5
Kepler clung to the reins with grim determination, wincing every time the saddle jarred his bony posterior. Ahead of him, Tengnagel crouched low on a white stallion, driving headlong into the winding approach road to the castle. Kepler caught a glimpse of the whitewashed stone perched high above Benátky village before the cottage-lined street filled his vision and the dwellings reverberated with the sound of their gallop.
By the time the castle gates hove into view, Kepler was more than a dozen lengths behind, his head whirling from the strenuous ride. When he finally reached the courtyard, Tengnagel had already dismounted and was strutting about, leaving the stable-hands to calm the stallion.
Kepler drew his horse to a stop and slumped along its neck. His heart threatened to burst from exertion, and despite the autumnal chill he was sweating from every pore. He slid to the ground, his knees buckling upon contact.
A gruff voice rang out across the yard. ‘What have you done to our guest?’
‘I cannot be held responsible if he is unused to our pace of life, sir,’ replied Tengnagel.
‘I asked you to escort him here as an honoured guest, not ride him into the ground, you fool.’
Tengnagel flinched. Throwing his riding gloves into the mud, he stamped inside.
‘What does my daughter see in him?’ the gruff voice muttered.
Kepler rubbed his watering eyes and brought them to bear on the source of the voice. A mockery of a human face looked back. It wore a hat reminiscent of a Turkish cupola. Beneath it, two rheumy eyes of hazel gazed unblinkingly from deep sockets. A tightly rolled moustache framed a gappy mouthful of saffron yellow-stained teeth. But that was not the worst of it. The bridge of the nose had been replaced by a cylinder of rose-coloured metal, and gobs of some thick unguent clung to the margins where angry flesh met the hideous prosthetic.
Could this be the great Tycho Brahe?
The face spoke. ‘I must apologise, more than I had intended, for not escorting you from Prague in person.’
He was so old. The picture in the frontispiece of his book painted him as a young noble, strapping and brave, not as this ugly palimpsest. Disappointment mingled with Kepler’s physical discomfort, and he thought for a moment he might vomit. Gulping down the nausea, he said, ‘I’m here now.’
A flicker passed across the old man’s wide face.
I should have been gracious, thought Kepler, his head pounding.
Tycho began a slow waddle to the stone entrance with Kepler in his wake. The courtyard was strewn with timber and trestles. Two carpenters in heavy linen smocks tugged a saw back and forth between them, cutting a tree trunk into beams.
‘You join us at an exciting time,’ said his host. ‘We are nearly settled into our new home, and the observatory is close to completion.’
Inside the castle, all was noise and motion. Giant sheets hung where craftsmen were working the stone, and Tycho batted his arms at the puffs of dust that seeped through the gaps in the coverings.
‘Let me take you straight to the observatory.’ He guided Kepler past wooden scaffolding and under large beams supporting the ceilings to a wide staircase where four servants sweated under the weight of a steel framework. Each side of the square contraption was larger than a man. Inside was suspended a curving track along which ran a moveable armature.
‘Heavens above, that’s a quadrant,’ said Kepler.
‘Set that down,’ Tycho barked at the servants.
They lowered their burden with a clank onto one of the stone steps and retreated to the balustrades.
‘Take a look.’ Tycho gestured towards the object.
Marvelling at the engraved scale, Kepler ran his fingers across the cool metal. ‘I’ve only seen hand-held ones before.’
‘You perhaps now glimpse what I have achieved.’
‘It was never in doubt, though I admit the grand scale of it astounds me.’
‘Then let me astound you even more.’ Tycho beckoned the servants back to their task and continued to climb, heaving himself up one step at a time.
Upon reaching one of the upper landings, Kepler stopped in his tracks. A miniature person was writhing on the floor, stubby limbs scratching at the air. As the bundle of flesh and clothing struggled, it babbled inanely in a squeaky voice.
‘Allow me to introduce Jepp, my constant companion and castle seer.’ Tycho kicked the collection of tiny arms and legs. It sprang to its knees, spitting and clawing the air in Kepler’s direction, forcing him to step back.
‘Evil walks today,’ said Jepp, the words rising with perfect clarity from his incessant mumbling.
‘What does he mean?’
Tycho laughed with a shrug. ‘He is a harmless dwarf. Come, let us leave him to his ravings.’
Unnerved by the way the twitching face stared at him, Kepler broke eye-contact and hurried after Tycho. They climbed one further flight of stairs and emerged onto the castle roof. A cool breeze offered balm to Kepler’s cheeks.
At first he thought his eyes were playing up again; magnifying the world to trick him into thinking that a giant had laid down a set of astronomical instruments for his miniature human helpers to tend. But no, this was reality. Tycho Brahe had created a marvel.
Kepler gawked at the towering structures of wood and metal jammed onto the rooftop so tightly that there was hardly any room to move be
tween them. He revelled in the geometry of the instruments with their metalwork of triangles, squares, circles and spheres. The shapes were the very embodiment of the mathematical arts, the essential interface between man and the cosmos. By lining them up with the stars and planets, they could provide everything – angles, altitudes, azimuths – all the measurements that Kepler needed. They were instruments of divine astronomical purpose. This was more than an observatory; it was a shrine to the universe, with Bohemia stretching out below in a patchwork, reaching from one village to the next.
A blond man of regal bearing was cradling a compass and squinting through the sightline of an upright circular frame. As Kepler watched, the man touched the structure as gently as if it were his lover’s cheek, nudging it imperceptibly.
‘This is Christian Longomontanus. I lured him here to help in our new quest, though he is homesick for Denmark. Tell him, Christian, there is no better observatory – nor master – to work for.’
‘All that you say is true, my lord.’ He spoke in a deep voice with measured words.
‘This is Johannes Kepler.’
Kepler nodded in greeting.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Herr Kepler. Your reputation precedes you.’
Tycho quickly gestured to the circle. ‘How is it?’
‘North–south alignment is finished. We can complete the equatorial alignment tonight, if the weather holds.’ He glanced up at the whitening sky.
‘This is an armillary sphere, is it not?’ asked Kepler.
‘Yes, but stripped to its bare essentials; no need for all those other great circles. The weight flexed the metal and ruined the accuracy,’ replied Tycho.
‘We can measure stellar positions to better than an arcminute with this,’ Longomontanus added.
‘And that’s not the best.’ Tycho spoke with the enthusiasm of a parent. ‘The wooden sextant over there can measure to thirty-two arcseconds.’
‘Arcseconds?’
‘Indeed.’
Numbers lined up in Kepler’s brain. ‘Thirty-two arcseconds is less than two hundredths of the full Moon’s width. Your observations are nearly twenty times more accurate than Copernicus worked with. You are … you are beyond anything I ever imagined.’
‘That is why Copernicus was wrong, and I am right.’
‘Have you seen parallax?’ asked Kepler.
‘Never. Not even with these perfect instruments. The Earth does not move.’
‘But it must!’
‘I believe only what my eyes and instruments tell me. You would do well to do the same, Johannes. Now, enough of astronomy. I will have you escorted to your room, so you may rest. Then, I will see you for dinner.’ Tycho clasped the expanse of his own stomach. ‘We eat at three o’clock, so that our food is well digested before the night’s observing begins. You look as if you could do with some fattening up.’
Kepler’s saddlebags lay beneath the window in his room. He thought briefly about unpacking the various items he had brought – mostly books and papers – but at sight of the bed, he rolled onto the straw mattress. He wondered briefly what Barbara and Regina were doing back in Prague, before losing himself to a dreamless sleep.
He awoke with a start at the sound of the door.
‘Who’s there?’ he said to the intruder.
‘Herr Kepler, forgive me for waking you but the assistants all share rooms at Benátky.’ Longomontanus averted his eyes.
It occurred to Kepler that he must look ridiculous, sprawled in his clothes in the afternoon. He was hot and his throat burned.
‘And, sir,’ said Longomontanus, pointing with his long fingers, ‘that is your bed.’
In the dusty far corner was a smaller cot, topped with greying blankets and pillows.
Kepler found Tycho in an antechamber, surrounded by assistants. Tengnagel hovered near the periphery, chin in the air, nodding enthusiastically whenever the Master spoke in his direction but at other times letting his eyes wander.
Kepler’s hurried footsteps drew their attention.
‘My lodgings are unacceptable,’ he declared. ‘I have a wife and stepdaughter, we cannot be expected to share …’
Tycho lifted his hand. ‘Did you smuggle them in with your packing?’
Tengnagel guffawed. The others swapped sidelong glances. Regardless, it inflamed Kepler more.
‘They will be here with me. I will need somewhere quiet – and uninterrupted time to perform my calculations.’
Tycho reached into a pocket and removed a snuffbox. He tipped the lid and dipped a finger into the waxy substance inside, then smeared it around his metal nose. With his hand in front of his face, he mumbled, ‘And you will get them.’
Heads turned towards the Master.
‘Come, let us eat.’ Tycho lurched into motion. The assistants shrugged to each other and eyed Kepler, who dropped to the rear of the group. Tengnagel barged past to take up a position at Tycho’s side.
The dining hall was still being set when the entourage swept into the room, sending the servants into a frenzy. Their activity set the wall hangings swaying, bringing a strange animation to the mythological depictions.
The tables were arranged as three sides of a square. Tycho indicated a chair on the left-hand table, nearly fifteen places away from the ornate seat at the centre of the top table. ‘Herr Kepler, please be seated.’
The other assistants were taking their positions nearer the top table, and Tengnagel rattled a chair within three of the central seat. Kepler looked up to query the placement, but there was a warning in Tycho’s eyes.
‘You are most kind,’ said Kepler, shrinking into his place. He watched sullenly as Tycho’s wife and eldest daughter took their places at the top table, exchanging greetings with the observatory assistants. Around them clustered some of his host’s other sons and daughters, each displaying the Tychonic red hair. When late guests hurried in to take seats next to Kepler, he favoured them with only the briefest of acknowledgements.
The room hushed as Tengnagel stood to say grace. It proved to be a ponderous monologue.
‘Oh, do hurry up, my insides are screaming with hunger,’ Tycho said during a particularly grandiose passage.
The room roared approval. Only Longomontanus continued to pray, Kepler noticed.
The servants appeared and piled plate after plate onto the long tables. Kepler watched Tycho hoist a roasted woodpigeon from a platter and rip it to pieces before chucking the carcass onto the floor. No, not the floor!
Underneath the table, dressed in the garb of a court jester, Jepp crouched at his Master’s toes and feasted on the leftovers. When waiting for another carcass to fall, he shook the bells on his costumes in some childish rhythm.
‘Ooh, do try the tansy,’ urged one of Kepler’s neighbours, indicating an omelette with edges as grey and ragged as old lace.
Kepler took some just to appear polite. He had always been of the opinion that food exerted a powerful influence over its consumer. If something looked bad from the outside, it probably did something bad on the inside too, but the tansy pleasantly surprised him. It tasted much better than it looked, so he took a little more. Soon afterwards another course was paraded around the tables: a predictable boar’s head made up the centrepiece and was placed before Tycho.
‘What is the special occasion?’ asked Kepler.
His neighbour laughed raucously, jowls quivering and spilling his wine. ‘Special occasion? Nothing. You’re at Tycho Brahe’s now.’
Kepler chewed on, picking his morsels carefully, his mood unimproved. At the top table, Tycho conversed and laughed with his assistants.
As the meal entered its second hour, a dark form banged on the table in front of Kepler, bouncing the tableware. An unmistakable jingling followed.
‘Does the Master’s food not suit your genteel palate?’ Jepp was standing astride the platters, bulbous head cocked. His piggy eyes were fogged and his breath stank of wine.
The room was suddenly quiet. Kepler knew Tycho
was watching, a leer on his greasy lips.
‘Are you used to finer things in Graaaaaz?’ Jepp drew out the last word into a song of ridicule.
‘Forgive me, I am not myself today,’ said Kepler, addressing the top table.
‘Who are you then?’ Jepp squeaked. ‘Copernicus perhaps?’
‘Enough Jepp, leave him be,’ called Tycho.
After a moment, the dwarf’s posture relaxed and he retreated to the edge of the table. But at the last moment, he lunged back in Kepler’s direction. Instinctively Kepler pushed himself away. The rear legs of his chair caught on the lip of a flagstone, and Kepler tipped over, cracking his head. Jepp perched on the edge of the table, watching his victim.
The guests roared with laughter. Jepp somersaulted from the table into the middle of the room and bowed, drawing more howls of delight from the onlookers. Shaking with humiliation, Kepler turned towards his host. The great Tycho Brahe was looking back, roaring with laughter.
*
Each evening, the assistants met to discuss the coming night’s work. They stood in a huddle and listened as Tycho informed them of their priorities and the division of labour. Once the programme of work was clear to everyone, they wrapped themselves in heavy capes and set off up the staircase. Their robes bestowed the illusion of priests ascending to worship the heavens.
Kepler stayed on the outskirts of the discussion and was assigned to help Longomontanus. ‘I had not anticipated taking part in the observing,’ he whispered to his room-mate. ‘I’m inadequately clothed.’
‘I have a spare cloak you may borrow.’ They detached themselves from the procession and headed for their room. Once there, Longomontanus opened a cupboard and handed over a musty-smelling garment. Kepler swung it around himself. A clear foot of material pooled on the floor.
‘You will be the warmest of us all,’ grinned Longomontanus.
When they arrived on the roof, the great nocturnal beast of the observatory was stirring into action. A dozen shadowy figures moved between the silhouettes of the instruments, preparing them for the night’s observing. During the day, the devices had been clamped rigid; now they were set free with the turn of fist-sized screws. Agog, Kepler watched the shadowplay; it was as beautiful as a dance. The operators merged with their mechanisms, each contributing to the choreography. An armature glided up a curving frame; a semicircular framework rotated into place; a triangular chassis tilted like an eagle catching an updraft. He followed the line of the instrument upwards, marvelling at the glittering stars.
