24
The imposing three-storey building in the de Catte quarter of the city served both as a workshop on the lower floors and a private residence on the floors above.
Gerard welcomed his cousin with genuine warmth, enveloping him in a bear hug. ‘What! Don’t they feed you in Magdeburg, Jakob? Look at you! You look like a scarecrow.’ It was true that Jakob’s slim frame contrasted with the rotund and genial map-maker, although Bunting suspected the contrast was more to do with the mapmaker’s indulgent life style, than the hardship they had endured on their travels.
‘How long has it been, Gerard?’ asked Jakob, rhetorically. ‘It must be fourteen years. You haven’t changed.’
‘And you, Cornelis,’ said Gerard, looking at his nephew, ‘the last time we met you were too busy to say hello to me, you were so attached to your mother’s breast.’
Cornelis smiled back awkwardly, trying to project maturity and competence to his new mentor and employer, which is difficult when you are fifteen years old and twenty or so other workers are stealing furtive glances at the reunion.
Cornelis had been impressed by Antwerp since crossing the bridge a few hours earlier. They may have got lost a number of times, but it had given him an opportunity to take in his new home. The crowded streets reeked of trade and opulence. Fine three- and four-storeyed buildings, with richly decorated stepped gables and graceful pinnacles, shadowed the modern cobbled streets where, different to Magdeburg, a drainage system had been devised leaving the streets clean and waste-free. Berchem, the village they had passed through the previous day, paled into insignificance compared to the scale and complexity of this vibrant metropolis.
They had stopped many times to stare at the elaborate fountains spurting water high into the air through the mouths of winged cherubs, dragons and wild beasts in the many squares, while the locals, whether rich or common, pushed by, seemingly not noticing the marvels around them. The imposing two-hundred-year-old Cathedral of Our Lady overawed them, with its two uneven spires reaching high to the clouds. A sad-looking priest hurrying by told them that this was the largest Gothic church in the Netherlands but if they had come looking for God, then they should turn around, because he did not reside in Antwerp.
‘It makes me think of the Tower of Babel,’ Jakob had said, looking skyward and speaking to no one in particular. Bunting had to agree, listening to the myriad of languages around them.
Walking on, they had come upon the city’s bourse, built around an enormous quadrangle. Men in their different garbs pushed in and out of this stock exchange, shouting numbers and waving documents in the air. The sign above an elaborately decorated doorway declared: ‘For the service of merchants of all nations and languages’.
A tired old aristocrat, ill-shaven with watery eyes and faded unfashionable clothes, stood on a wooden crate expounding his views in a hysterical high-pitched voice to anyone who would listen. ‘Beware o’ Antwerp! Beware a world where kings come to bankers to finance wars. Where bankers send past due notices to the greatest rulers of Europe. O’ Antwerp, beware the mysterious forces called letters of credit, bills of transfer, stock exchanges, for they impact the cost of a barrel of ale. But only a few understand and control how it works. Who can tell what has happened, or what will happen? For desire is the real force behind the bankers: our desire for luxuries, our lust for exotic goods and dainty foods. When did avarice reign more largely?’
A soldier guarding the entrance to the bourse jeered him. ‘You’re mad, old man. Go and have a lie down. You’ll feel better,’ he laughed.
‘No,’ the orator responded, pointing a withered finger at the soldier, then at Bunting and Jakob. ‘It is you who are mad and you and you!’ he said. Before anyone could interrupt him he flowed on. ‘For it is said that demand for sugar in Europe creates a demand for slaves in far-off countries. So my innocent desire for a rosewater cookie enslaves a man on the other side of the world and increases the riches of the sugar company, until it is so powerful that it answers to no king, no government, and least of all, to the people whose desires made it great. Many applaud the new merchant world that has arisen in the last few years. The powerful international banking, the global trading, the variety of goods available to ordinary men and the opportunity for profits will give us better lives, they say. But they are wrong! Shall the day come when we have made these banks and trading companies so powerful that, not only do they enslave the man in the foreign land, but they own us as well?’
Finally, apparently spent and breathless, the old man slumped down and, unexpectedly, burst into tears, crying like a child. Bunting felt confused, filled with insecurity and uncertainty.
It had not been far from the bourse to the home and business of Gerard de Jode, Publisher and Mapmaker. Situated on Twaalfmaandenstraat, the premises were surrounded by complementary businesses: book binders, art galleries, picture framers, furniture makers, shops selling paper products and stationery. The frontage, a many-paned display window, exhibited a range of hand-coloured maps, some presented in intricately carved gold-leaf frames, while others sat in simple, plain wood mouldings. A small crowd had gathered around as a new map was being placed in the window by a portly, finely-dressed gentleman of perhaps fifty years. The crowd gasped as the map was revealed. Cornelis squeezed through and read the printed descriptive text in the decorative cartouche at the top-centre of the map.
Totius Orbis Cogniti Universalis Descriptio … a most up-to-date map of the known world from the most recent explorations and discoveries. Dedicated to his Honour, Theodore Echter von Mespelbrunn, His Highness and Holy Emperor Rudolph II … by his most humble servant, Gerardum de Jode …10 Twaalfmaandenstraat Antwerpus 1576.
The boy’s eyes widened as he tried to understand what he was looking at. He understood local maps, though, maps of the districts around Magdeburg – but a map on this scale was too much for his inexperienced mind to process. Luckily a man next to him who was explaining the map to his son, cleared the fog for Cornelis.
‘See, son,’ he explained, pointing at part of the map, ‘this is where we are right now. This is Europe, and this here is the New World.’ The father pointed to a double landmass joined by a sliver of land on the left of the map. ‘This is where the Spanish and Portuguese have found rivers of gold and silver. And this is the land of the Black Peoples,’ he said, pointing to Africa, ‘from where many are captured and brought here and sold as slaves. And here is the Empire of the Orientals whose eyes are slanty and narrow, and who wear their hair in pigtails. And this is Terra Australis Incognito,’ pointing to the landmass that stretched across the whole bottom portion of the map, from below the New World on the far left, beneath Africa and continuing east until the end of the page on the far right. ‘A land filled with the most terrible monsters, three-legged men and women with the head of a fish and the tail of a donkey.’
After a while the crowd dispersed and the four travellers entered through the front door. The narrow frontage outside disguised the vastness of the interior. A large presentation table acted as a barrier between the public and the workroom beyond. Cornelis, excited about his future workplace, peered carefully, trying to understand the processes he was seeing.
After breaking free of Gerard’s hug, Jakob introduced his cousin to Bunting.
‘Ah, how lovely to meet you, Herr Bunting. My cousin did not tell me he was travelling with a priest. I must say that I am surprised, but pleasantly so. In my house, all are welcome. This establishment is built in the pursuit of knowledge, the peeling back of superstition and the discovery of the unknown. Whether one prays to the west or the east, or eats fish or pork makes no difference to me. One leaves one’s prejudices at the doorstep of this establishment. Welcome, welcome, you are all welcome.’
‘I am very impressed,’ said Bunting, looking around in wonderment at the number of men working on the different contraptions. ‘I had not understood from my conversations with Jakob that your business was so large.’
‘Neit
her had I,’ mumbled a disgruntled Jakob from under his beard.
‘I had stupidly imagined that a map maker worked solely, with perhaps a couple of helpers … I had no idea,’ continued the priest. ‘You must have at least twenty workers here?’
‘Ah, that is about half of it. I still do work alone for hours at my engraver’s table, but we are also publishers and printers and that entails many staff. The rest of the workers are on the next floor and we live on the floor above that.’ As he was speaking, Gerard led them through the workshop to a set of narrow stairs situated at the back of the premises, proudly presenting his cousin and nephew to his staff as he went.
‘You all must be tired after your long journey. Please follow me upstairs, meet my wife and inspect your lodgings. Your servant boy can go with Hans. He will look after him.’
They climbed the stairs, past the first floor where they could see more workers, some with their heads down examining documents, others carefully applying colours by water and others focused on manipulating paper through printing contraptions. On the second floor they were met by Miriam, who appeared as a female version of her husband: buxom and jolly. Bunting was shown to his room by a servant girl, and Jakob and Cornelis to another. This would be the room they would share until Jakob left, and would be Cornelis’ home for the foreseeable future.
A few hours later, after they had washed and slept, they gathered in the wood-panelled dining room for dinner. Despite Gerard’s declaration of religious tolerance, Jakob was still surprised to see shellfish on the table.
His cousin saw his look and explained. ‘As you know, Miriam and I were not blessed with children, and so we lost interest in our traditions. Apart from the High Holy Days we rarely attend the Synagogue. In fact, we hardly mix in Jewish company anymore. This part of Antwerp is a good fifteen-minute walk to the Jewish quarter.’
‘This is why we are so excited to have Cornelis with us,’ said Miriam. ‘To have a family member learn the business with us and share our home is our blessing.’
I’m not sure if it is my blessing, thought Jakob, as he considered the removal of all the traditions he had brought his son up in. Conscious of Cornelis staring at him, and despite his misgivings, he quickly replied, ‘You have been very generous, Miriam. Esther and I thank you for that.’
Bunting, who was sensitive to Jakob’s situation, broke the tension by mentioning the incident they had witnessed at the gates of the city and the mood at the Spanish encampment the day before.
‘It must be idle chatter from uneducated soldiers,’ said Gerard. ‘Governor Champagny is on excellent terms with the Spanish. I believe Alba himself has eaten at his table. It is inconceivable that they would attack this city. We already pay tribute to them by manner of free food and ale. Furthermore, Champagny has organised large reinforcements of Walloon regiments, under the command of the Marquis of Havre, to supplement the German mercenaries.’
Gerard leaned back and drank heartily from his wine glass, then continued to speak. ‘I entertain Muslims from Constantinople, Jews from Salonica and Heathens from China at my dinner table. The world is becoming smaller and there is no time for petty squabbles. It is a new world. No longer is a man content, as in times past, to praise God for enough to eat and a warm cloak. No, he must have cloves. He must have sugar. Trade is the new religion of the world and the sooner men understand that, the sooner religious prejudices will be put aside.’
‘I am not so sure the mood at the Spanish encampment had much to do with religious sentiment but more to do with financial jealousy,’ said Bunting.
‘Yes! Exactly as I was saying! This is why Philip should let go of his illogical and unreasonable opposition to the reformists, remove his armies in Holland, save himself tens of thousands of florins and put the soldiers to honest labour from which they can profit. My experience has taught me that material pursuit is the antithesis of religious sentiment.’
It was now Jakob’s turn to help his friend. He could see Bunting starting to get agitated about Gerard’s views on religion and money, and steered the subject away. ‘Gerard,’ said Jakob, ‘Cornelis noticed that a map you placed in your window attracted a crowd earlier on today.’
‘And quite rightly so,’ said Gerard proudly. ‘This world map has some of the most up-to-date information from Portuguese and Spanish explorers. And may I add that it is only due to my contacts in high places that this previously secret information is now public. This is the first of a series of maps I am publishing depicting the known world. They will be bound together as a collection and called Speculum Orbis Terrarum which will put that French upstart Plantin and his rogue of a friend Ortelius and his Theatrum to shame.’
For the first time since they had met, Gerard lost his normal bonhomie. His skin reddened, his eyes narrowed. His voice became low and monotone. ‘The detail of my work surpasses anything that Ortelius produces. I challenge anyone to tell me different. Ortelius is a showman, not a serious scholar. It is beyond me that the Guild of St Luke allowed him to ply his trade in Antwerp. If it was not for his influential and rich backer Plantin, his so-called atlas would never have seen the light of day. In actuality, Theatrum is a good name for it, for it is all theatre with its garish colours and lack of accuracy.’ Here, he slammed his drink onto the table, making the rest of the group jump in surprise. ‘No, he shall not succeed in reducing me! Speculum will show the world who is the greatest map maker.’
‘Gerard, Gerard, you are getting all in a state again,’ said Miriam in a strict voice, which seemed to immediately calm her husband down. ‘You and Abraham were good friends for many years and although in recent times you have not seen eye to eye, he does not deserve your opprobrium.’ Miriam then turned and addressed her guests. ‘It has been a difficult few weeks for my darling husband. It seems that Abraham has been bestowed the title of Royal Geographer and he and Plantin are to receive special honours for their services to the advancement of knowledge from King Philip. Both had to first prove their Catholic pedigrees and Gerard feels cheated. Gerard’s maps may be finer, but his ethnicity will always be second-class. Isn’t that so, my darling?’
‘Yes, you are right Miriam … Abraham is not such a bad fellow.’ And as quickly as he had heightened, he mellowed. ‘Tell me, Herr Bunting, what is the purpose of your adventure, and how can I be of help?’
Bunting took a deep breath and indicated his desire to travel beyond the reach of Christian men. Thankfully Gerard, assuming this was related to a religious calling to spread the gospel on Bunting’s part, enthusiastically suggested a number of destinations. ‘The Americas is a possibility,’ he expounded. ‘Only six weeks’ sailing too and plenty of ungodly heathens … then again …’ He paused and gathered his thoughts. ‘Then again, the Spanish and Portuguese have been so brutal to the natives that you are very likely to get a spear in your back or an axe on your skull, and if not some violent end, then disease which is rampant, will probably get you. No, not the Americas; better the other way, you shall travel into the rising sun. You shall travel east.’
As his idea germinated his voice became louder. ‘I suggest, no, I demand it! You will travel on a caravel to the Spice Islands: ideal weather, friendly natives – apart from a few cannibals – and hardly a Christian in sight. I know just the boat and the man to take you.’ And with that proclamation he looked around the table in expectation of congratulations.
Cornelis was first to react by clapping his hands, and soon the rest of the group, buoyed by wine and excitement, were whooping, clapping and cheering together at Gerard’s cleverness. The evening only came to a halt when Miriam, who had also been carried away with the occasion, fell back off her chair and tumbled legs overhead across the floor and had to be taken, groaning, to her bed.
25
Dom Letizia, mobile phone pressed to his ear, tried to smile graciously for the tourists as they fired away at the incredible view. Their snaps captured him – a fully robed monk in his mid-sixties in the background. He had an unlined,
unthreatening face with a full head of black hair, slightly greying at the temples. His steely grey-blue eyes hinted at a grimace rather than a smile. The monk was oblivious to the panoramic view of southern Lazio from the balcony off the medieval cloister and his pleasant countenance gave no clue to the seriousness of the information he was about to hear.
‘I am sorry, Dom Letizia,’ said the voice on the other side of the phone, ‘they are very close. They have the Amsterdam map. They took it before the auction. I could not take any chances. We have the London map, however.’
The monastery at Monte Cassino had a remarkable history stretching back to the sixth century when Benedict of Nursia climbed the mountain and destroyed the pagan altar and statue of Apollo. He never left and spent the rest of his life on the mountain, writing what became known as the Benedictine Rule, the founding principle for western monasticism.
Dom Letizia’s life had been spent following this Rule. Born only a few miles away from where he was now standing, he could not remember a time when the monastery had not been part of his life. He had been four years old in 1944, when his mother had carried him up through the snow from the village of Cassino, along with hundreds of other crying children and their mothers, to the safety of the ancient monastery walls. The German troops had been too preoccupied building defences in the lower villages to worry about the departure of the women and children. Free Polish troops were advancing by road and, from above, constant Allied air raids bombarded the German’s positions.
The Benedictine monks had welcomed the villagers and provided shelter and food. Dom Letizia had little memory of the bombing itself or the carnage all around. His mother was dead and all was smoke and ruins. The survivors struggled back down the mountain, but he and one other boy remained, waiting for a father to return or a relative to claim them. They never came and the boys stayed with the monks.
The Bunting Quest Page 12
