Sky's Dark Labyrinth

by Stuart Clark

  Tycho looked back at Kepler. ‘Are you a changed man?’

  ‘As night turns to day.’

  Tycho fiddled with the limp ends of his moustache and then released them with a click of his tongue. ‘We must present you to the Emperor. Get you a worthy salary.’

  Tengnagel’s mouth hardened.

  The wind in Prague followed the same course as the river, and Kepler was in its way. It sliced through him as he crossed the Stone Bridge, head down, watching his feet on the flagstones.

  Above the constant hiss of the air, he thought he heard something. It came again, unmistakable this time. It was the rhythm of feet marching in time. Kepler whirled around.

  Soldiers strode towards him, less than a dozen paces away and gaining fast. They carried halberds at the ready. People jumped from their path.

  ‘Make way for the Emperor’s business!’ the leader shouted.

  Kepler leaped to the side of the bridge, pressing himself against the cold stone, but they did not give him a second look. Behind them, four burly men trotted carrying a large pole on their shoulders, two runners at either end. They were sweating, despite the cold. Suspended from the pole was a large packing case. Its wooden surface betrayed the marks of a long journey. A second set of soldiers clanked past, bringing up the rear. Kepler watched them dissolve into the New Town, heading for the Palace.

  Arriving at the Golden Griffin, he heard Tycho calling from a carriage.

  ‘Come on, come on. We can’t be late.’

  ‘I’m perfectly on time.’ Kepler climbed in.

  ‘Maybe for a social visit. But not for the Emperor.’

  Tycho swung the door shut and thumped the carriage roof. It jerked into motion.

  The carriage lurched and bumped its way up the hill, finding every pothole in the road. Each fresh jolt ricocheted through Kepler’s bones. One bump was so violent that Kepler thought he heard the wooden floor splitting.

  Tycho groaned, as if someone had just kicked him in the backside. ‘This is the final indignity of old age, you know. You have to ride because you cannot walk yet the ride itself is intolerable. Why can’t someone invent a coach that doesn’t try to shake what remains of your life out of you?’

  The carriage – and Tycho – grumbled on until they stopped at the Palace’s western gate. A soldier peered in at them and waved them on. Their journey ended in an inner courtyard, where a smartly dressed man was hurrying over to meet them.

  ‘You’re late. I was just beginning to worry,’ he said, sweeping his fringe away from his face.

  Kepler avoided Tycho’s look as they stepped out of the carriage.

  ‘Mister Brahe, it is a pleasure to see you again.’

  ‘How did His Majesty receive my last horoscope?’

  ‘With pleasure and interest, as always. He thanks you for your foresight. You must be Johannes Kepler. I am Johannes Wackher von Wackenfels, one of the imperial councillors, at your service,’ he said with a bow, opening his arms as he dipped his body. ‘Would it interest you to know that we are distantly related, through your father’s side?’

  Kepler searched beyond the long fair hair and the pale skin for any hint of family resemblance.

  ‘There is noble blood in you after all,’ said Tycho, hijacking Kepler’s attention.

  ‘I assure you, gentlemen, whatever nobility there once was, has now sadly departed in all material ways. What remains is etched in my spirit,’ said Kepler.

  During the negotiation for Barbara’s hand, his mediators had caught a whiff of the knights in his lineage and used it to persuade her father. When the old man had discovered it to be only half true he broke the agreement. Only intervention by the Lutheran leaders in Graz, who had originally approved the match, had shamed him into reinstating the marriage.

  Kepler turned to von Wackenfels’s expectant face. ‘That said, I am doubly pleased to make your acquaintance, cousin.’

  Von Wackenfels looked as though he would burst with joy. ‘This way, gentlemen, there’s not much time.’

  Tycho stumbled along as fast as he was able, giving Kepler plenty of time to gawp at the tapestries full of hunting scenes or biblical stories. Hard as it was for Kepler to believe, the capacious chambers and walkways made Tycho’s Benátky look small.

  Through the warped glass of the windows, Kepler spied more buildings. Some were large enough to qualify as whole castles in their own right. They stretched back and back, all within the confines of the Palace walls.

  ‘This is a town in its own right.’

  ‘Welcome to our humble abode,’ said von Wackenfels.

  They emerged into a bustling hall, as big as a cathedral. Kepler gasped at the sight. The great gothic vaults reached up perhaps sixty feet into the air. Each archway tapered to a point from which ribbons of plaster curved away to run in sensuous lines back to the floor.

  Great chandeliers, each one a fantasy of metal and wax, hung tethered from the ceiling. Kepler estimated a hundred candles in one alone before his attention was drawn away.

  Light spilled in from the giant windows, bringing the bright hope of morning, and the place was filled with courtiers. They gathered in pools of conversation or wandered in pairs through the magnificence, filling the place with lively chatter.

  Until today Kepler had never seen such exquisite clothes, surpassing even Hewart von Hohenburg’s garments, or such beautiful people. Each one of them was encased in a vibrant colour, tall and upright, with bright eyes and shining tresses.

  ‘Do not wear black,’ Tycho had advised. ‘That’s the Emperor’s colour.’

  Kepler was wearing navy blue, freshly, if haphazardly, laundered by Frau Bezold. Upon dressing he had delighted in the luxuriant feel of it and felt self-conscious as he stepped into the street. Now, he realised, he barely made the grade. It was not that the cloth was inferior, but the level of adornment was lacking. He felt drab in comparison and regretted arguing with Barbara over her suggestion that he buy a new suit for the occasion.

  At the very end of the hall stood a pyramid of steps, its top truncated to provide a wide dais. On it, sat a single empty throne.

  ‘If you would like to wait here, I will make sure His Majesty knows that you have arrived.’ Von Wackenfels bowed and left.

  Along the sides of the hall, booths had been constructed where paintings and other objets d’art were offered for sale. Courtiers milled around, scanning the works, commenting on them and occasionally parting with money. Kepler sauntered over to take a look and was confronted by a number of shocking depictions. Mingled in with the traditional landscapes and city views – as if all was perfectly normal – there were portraits of such lewdness that Kepler had to walk away.

  Tycho laughed at him. ‘The Emperor is a man of some passion.’

  They waited. Occasionally someone would talk to them, pass the time of day and then move on. Mostly they waited. Time stretched into first one hour and then another.

  Tycho stood stiffly, his face a mask. He leaned over. ‘I have to piss.’

  ‘Shall I find von Wackenfels?’

  ‘I might be old but I’m still capable of pissing on my own. It’s all I seem to do these days.’

  At that moment, von Wackenfels approached. ‘His Imperial Majesty will see you now.’

  ‘Is everything alright?’ asked Kepler.

  Tycho cut across him. ‘Most kind of His Grace to see us so promptly.’

  As they walked towards the throne, von Wackenfels sidled up to Kepler. ‘His Majesty had a new painting delivered this morning. He wanted to spend some time with it.’

  Rudolph appeared and the room hushed. People positioned themselves and bowed. Kepler followed suit, bowing as low as he could. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tycho struggling to curve his body, and knew better than to offer assistance. There were beads of sweat on Tycho’s brow as he straightened.

  ‘Your Majesty, Tycho Brahe and Johannes Kepler,’ said von Wackenfels after Rudolph had seated himself.

  Kepler fo
llowed Tycho to the base of the steps. They bowed again.

  Rudolph’s face was all jowls and chin, across which grew a luxuriant auburn beard. At its centre protruded two fulsome lips. His dark eyes looked glassy and remote, and he gave no acknowledgement of the men. Kepler was uncertain whether he was even looking in their direction.

  Tycho spoke. ‘Your Majesty, I intend to publish my life’s work as a set of tables with which any astronomer may look up the positions of the stars and the planets. It will become the world’s standard reference for astronomy and will form the basis of all future almanacs. You would bestow upon me an inestimable honour if you were to permit me to call this work The Rudolphine Tables.’

  Rudolph’s face did not move for some time, and Kepler sensed Tycho’s uncertainty. When it did move, the voice was a soft mumble: ‘It is acceptable.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty. With your name attached, it cannot help but ensure that the work will be remembered throughout all future time. As I do not need to tell Your Majesty, this undertaking is a difficult task. I have a lifetime of observations to work through. I would humbly beg that, to assist me, Your Grace employs this man, Johannes Kepler.’

  Rudolph mumbled again. ‘Can one man make such a difference?’

  ‘Only if it is this man, Your Majesty. There is no one like him in the world. His gift with numbers is incalculable.’

  A childish squeak escaped Rudolph. It was followed by a stifled laugh that shook his body. ‘His gift with numbers is incalculable. That’s very good. You’re a dry wit, Mister Brahe.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Johannes Kepler, how do you find Prague?’

  ‘It is the beating heart of Europe, Your Majesty. Your great works here influence everything.’

  ‘Indeed they do.’ The Emperor returned to somnolence. At last he said, ‘It is agreed. You will be paid from the imperial purse.’

  The ledger room was everything that Kepler had imagined: shelf after shelf of leather-bound observations. For the stars, the collection was categorised by season and subdivided by declination, the latitude on the sky. For the planets, a separate shelf was devoted to each one of the five orbs.

  There was just enough space in between the cabinets for a table and chair, and, even though he was assigned a separate study, it was here that Kepler preferred to work. Surrounded by Tycho’s treasure, he spent hours leafing through each ledger, acquainting himself with the data, growing to know the pages until some were as familiar as old friends. Within a week he could reach to the correct corner of the room for any observation he required. A fortnight later, he could point to the exact ledger.

  The only actions forbidden were to make copies of the observations, or to remove them from the room.

  ‘You finally achieved everything you yearned for.’ The tall figure of Longomontanus stood in the doorway.

  ‘I am helping the Master to compile his tables, nothing more.’

  Longomontanus raised an eyebrow. ‘You will work on Mars, I know you well enough by now.’

  Kepler slowly closed the ledger. ‘What of you? They say you are leaving.’

  ‘I am away to Copenhagen. A professorship awaits.’

  ‘A professorship?’ Kepler’s thoughts turned fleetingly to Tübingen.

  ‘I have been away from my homelands too long.’

  Tübingen appeared again in Kepler’s mind. ‘Then I wish you good fortune, my friend. We do part as friends, do we not?’

  Longomontanus brought his hands together as if he were about to pray. ‘Johannes, the Master’s arrangement of the planets may not be complete but it is the best we have. It fits the data. Why tear it down and start again?’

  ‘Because, in my heart, I know it is wrong.’

  ‘Then I must resist you every step of the way. For, in my heart, I know it can only be right.’

  Later, another visitor passed the room: Tycho. He rested himself against the doorframe. ‘Still here?’

  ‘Working late,’ said Kepler, rubbing his eyes.

  A smile tugged at Tycho’s pale lips. ‘Of course.’

  Soon afterwards, Kepler rose from his seat and stacked his papers. He carefully locked up the ledger room and turned for the front door. It was a chill night, so he headed back inside towards his study, where he had left his hat, gloves and cloak.

  The household was asleep. The long nights of observation were at an end now that Benátky had been abandoned. The instruments were in storage and the catalogues were as complete as they would be.

  Kepler crept through the stillness, entered his study and froze. A small shadow was at his desk, rifling his papers. It carried a single small candle.

  ‘Leave my things alone,’ said Kepler evenly, recovering from the initial fright.

  Jepp turned slowly. There was a control about his movements that Kepler had never seen before.

  ‘You’re not the imbecile you pretend to be, and you’re certainly no seer. The only foolish thing you have done in all the time I have known you is to think that you could fool me. Now get out.’

  Jepp took a step forwards. There was a cold clarity in his eyes that took Kepler by surprise. It was strangely entrancing. A dart of movement caught Kepler off guard. Before he knew what was happening, the candle Jepp had been holding was flying through the air.

  He batted the flaming object to one side, sending hot wax cascading around the room. The candle bounced from the wall to the floor, narrowly avoiding a stack of paper. He pounced at once to extinguish the flame.

  Shaking in the sudden darkness, Kepler looked around.

  Jepp was gone.

  12

  Rome, Papal States

  Claudius Acquaviva went by several names. Hardly anyone used his given name because of the station he held. He was head of the Roman College, leader of the Jesuits and one of the chief advisors to the Pope. Those who thought of the Jesuits as soldiers of God fighting a war of ideology against the hated enemy referred to him as Praepositus Generalis. Then there were those who feared him.

  There were many who fell into this category both across the Lutheran world and even within the Roman one. They worried that being Catholic was one thing, being Jesuit was altogether another. They considered him scheming and possessed of dark motives. To them he was covertly known as the Black Pope.

  He was a skeleton in black shrouds. Though not yet past his fifty-fifth year, Claudius Acquaviva’s head was no more than a skull with a tight covering of skin. His hair and beard were shaved to stubble, and the sharp outline of his cheekbones were clearly visible on either side of his angular nose.

  He worked in the shadow of a crucifix, a six-foot-tall wooden carving of Christ’s death secured to the wall behind his desk. In the far corner, behind any guests, was a hooded falcon, kneading its perch. He would send the bird of prey soaring over the rooftops from the window when he needed to clear his mind.

  Acquaviva’s eyes, as black as his clothing, floated in brilliant whites that even Bellarmine found difficult to meet for any length of time. They were looking at him now, having lifted from a sheet of writing that Bellarmine had handed to him a few minutes earlier.

  ‘This is copied exactly?’ Acquaviva’s voice never rose above that of softly shifting gravel.

  ‘Exactly as it was written to Herr Kepler, Father General. Tübingen have refused to help him find a professorship. He’s isolated. His most powerful friends are now Catholics. He may be worth … approaching.’

  Acquaviva remained impassive. The Praepositus Generalis’s office closed in around Bellarmine, who added quickly, ‘It would not be the first time a Lutheran scholar has converted to us.’

  ‘Indeed not,’ said Acquaviva. ‘But why would we want such a troublemaker? Father Clavius has informed me of Kepler’s astronomical ideas. They are strictly against Aristotle, and we are sworn to obey the orthodoxy.’

  ‘For control, Father General. By making Kepler a Jesuit, we could steer his efforts away from the heresies. He’s a pious ma
n; he’d see reason.’

  ‘Just because he has been refused a professorship by his old masters, why should that make him ready to renounce Lutherism?’

  Bellarmine felt a rush of pride. ‘There is something else. We’ve learned that he has not signed the Formula of Concord.’

  Acquaviva inclined his head. ‘In truth?’

  ‘Most assuredly, Father General. He disagrees with Lutheran dogma over their ubiquity doctrine.’

  Acquaviva smiled faintly. The Formula of Concord was the latest German effort to agree a succinct statement of Lutheran beliefs and thus shore up support across Europe in the face of the Catholic resurgence – and it was failing. Sweden, Denmark and England were protesting against it. Not even in Germany could full support be found; the Lutheran communities in Hesse, Zweibrücken, Anhalt, Nürnberg and others were refusing to sign. Now a prominent thinker from Tübingen was turning away. This was indeed a wedge to be pounded into a split.

  Bellarmine could see from the ghost of a smile that Acquaviva grasped the importance. It was the most emotion Bellarmine had ever seen him show.

  ‘Can you spare the time to visit Prague?’ the Praepositus Generalis asked.

  ‘With great respect, Father General, it would be better if Father Grienberger made the journey. He is known to Kepler; they have exchanged letters.’

  ‘Then Father Grienberger it will be. While he’s there, he can remind Rudolph II of his duty to Rome. The reports suggest that most in Prague now prefer worshipping with the Utraquists, and that the surrounding lands are mostly Lutheran.’

  ‘The Utraquists have signed a treaty with the Vatican.’

  ‘Your diplomacy does you justice, Cardinal Bellarmine, but I think we both know the Utraquists are soft. Their insistence on treating the laity with the same dignity as the clergy is contemptible. I hardly need to remind you of all people that in matters of faith there can be no compromise.’

  From over his left shoulder Bellarmine could hear the falcon clawing at its perch. Acquaviva slipped on a leather glove, crossed the room and unlaced the bird’s tether. It automatically stepped onto his hand. He stroked the bird before unlatching the window. ‘See to it that more pressure is brought to bear on Prague.’ He slipped off the falcon’s hood and flung the bird from his hand, out into the air. ‘The sooner we re-establish direct control over the so-called Holy Roman Empire the better.’