Sky's Dark Labyrinth (15 page)

His old tutor looked away.

‘Magister, I can only follow what I believe to be true – in astronomy and in my faith. One feeds my mind, the other my spirit. Neither can be taken in narrow slices.'

Mästlin pulled open the door. ‘And that belief is precisely why you must leave. Obedience to the Church is all that matters now. Return to Prague and never come back here.'

As the memory played itself out, Kepler looked at Barbara. ‘What else can I do Barbara? Tell me!' His voice was sharp.

‘Maybe it would help if your book didn't have a foreword saying that none of it was true.'

Kepler winced. She could polish words into daggers. Her sharpest were always the truest.

After discovering that Tengnagel had done nothing with the ledgers, Kepler had opened negotiations through the Imperial Court to have them returned to his house, arguing that he could then complete the Emperor's bidding and produce
The Rudolphine Tables
. The ledgers reappeared at a particularly inopportune moment, one not dissimilar from tonight, with Barbara brooding in her chair and the children packed off to bed. The bow-legged deliveryman had heaved pile after pile of books from the back of his wagon into Kepler's hallway, wedging open the door and letting in the chill.

‘Won't you even carry them to my study?' asked Kepler. ‘It's just down the passage.'

The man's accent was rough. ‘I've my instructions from Lord Tengnagel. And more jobs to do after this one.'

So Kepler hauled them out of the doorway and along to the study. Over the course of the following week, he moved them upstairs to the spare room, where there was more space. He then neglected the tables in favour of mining the data for his own ends.

Tengnagel had agreed to return the ledgers on one condition: that Kepler would seek his approval for everything he wanted to print using the data. At the time, Kepler would have agreed to anything just to have the precious observations back, but his attention had once again been diverted from the
Tables
by the lure of Mars. When Tengnagel read
Astronomia Nova
and realised that Kepler was not advocating Tycho's planetary arrangement, the Junker had insisted on writing a foreword clearly stating that Kepler had misused the data to suit Copernican ends.

The poisoned words had been handed to Kepler, the ink still wet, moments before he was due to set off with his manuscript to Frankfurt. Without the damning foreword, he would be denied the right to publish the book at all. What could he do?

He had hoped a publisher would share the cost of production, allowing him to print all the copies he wanted, but, as he went from table to table in the dusty hall, his mood became increasingly desperate. The first words the publishers saw in the manuscript told them to ignore the contents. As they read that, their eyes would glance over the top of the manuscript, checking to see if this was a joke. Kepler had assured them, pleaded with them, it was not. He had
toured the taverns dispensing ale and bonhomie with them but to no avail. Times were hard, he was told. Yet not so hard that a few key manuscripts by other authors were auctioned off, he noticed.

So, he moved on to Heidelberg, where the printing began using the residue of the Emperor's money. He promised the ink-stained printer that more funds were on the way. Kepler decided that the best course of action was to disregard the ignominy and to send copies to those most likely to appreciate his work, such as astronomers and
mathematicians
, and also to those most likely to return favour, such as kings and dukes of distant lands. He just prayed that something would arrive soon to help him meet the debt.

He had done his best to save the situation, so why did Barbara keep bringing this up? Did she not know how much it embarrassed him? His anger simmered.

‘I could earn a king's fortune and you'd still not be happy. We are hardly peasants, but somehow you fail to be able to understand this.'

She resumed staring into the empty grate. A single tear rolled down her cheek as, outside, another coach rumbled closer. Kepler paid the vehicle no more than a moment's attention until it stopped right outside their house. In the moment of stillness that followed, a horse snorted and jangled its harness.

Barbara looked up. ‘Not again. What does His Precious Majesty want now?'

There was a rap on the door.

Kepler got up from his chair when the knocking came again, louder and more urgent.

‘Quick,' Barbara snapped. ‘Before they wake the children.'

Kepler hurried to the front door. It was dark, and he fumbled at the latch. A blast of cold air, and there was Von Wackenfels waiting in the porch. ‘Four new stars have been discovered,' he said, ‘Four!'

‘What?'

‘Four new stars.' He waved his hands upwards.

There were a few stars visible in the gap of sky above them but not enough for Kepler to get his bearings. He stepped out, taking a few paces before the cold and damp registered in his brain to tell him that he was not wearing shoes. He dashed back to the hallway and retrieved his
leather slippers. Then he ran for the riverbank, one eye on the road, the other on the sky, looking for any glimpse of the new celestial objects.

Von Wackenfels trailed behind him, panting. ‘Word reached court this afternoon. I came as soon as I could get away. The stars have been found by an astronomer in Padua called Galileo.'

‘Galileo! I once exchanged letters with him, many years ago now. I was planning to send him a copy of my latest book.'

‘He says the stars are in the vicinity of Jupiter.'

Kepler reached the riverbank. From the chill wind coming down the valley, it was clear that the air might frost again before spring could truly lay claim to the land. Kepler looked up, running his eyes across the sky to Jupiter. There was a building in the way, possibly the university.

‘We need to be on the bridge.'

Von Wackenfels had only just arrived at his side. ‘Johannes, why are we heading for the bridge?'

‘To see the new stars, of course.'

‘No, you misunderstand.'

‘Misunderstand what?' Kepler stopped running.

The courtier bent forward, hands on knees, and started talking in between large gasps of air. ‘You didn't let me finish. You cannot see them with the naked eye. Galileo has used some kind of looking-glass.'

‘What? Like spectacles?'

‘A long tube with lenses inside, judging by the description that the Tuscan ambassador brought with him.'

‘And this extends human vision?'

‘So it would seem.'

Kepler returned to von Wackenfels. ‘Where can I get one? Is the ambassador still awake? Can he take a letter to Galileo?'

‘Calm, Johannes. I will tell you everything I know.'

They returned to Karlova Street. The carriage was still outside the house, its driver hunched in a blanket and the horse dozing.

‘May we use your carriage for the discussion? My children are in bed and Barbara doesn't like noise in the house at this hour.'

Von Wackenfels opened the carriage door. ‘Be my guest.'

The inside was no warmer than outside but at least it sheltered them from the wind. Kepler shivered. ‘Stars that cannot be seen with the naked eye. Who would have thought such wonders were possible?'

‘The ambassador says that Galileo has made further discoveries.'

Sobriety crashed back into Kepler. ‘This is a jest. You're making a fool of me.'

Von Wackenfels gave an urgent shake of his head. ‘Galileo has written a book.'

Kepler cocked his head. ‘A book? That I would like to see.'

A few days later, a leather-bound volume arrived at court. Von Wackenfels sent for Kepler and ushered him into a small office where the slim book sat on the table.
Siderius Nuncias
, the Starry Messenger. Kepler picked it up at once and ran his fingers over the title page. His heart beat faster.

Von Wackenfels placed a hand over the front cover, preventing him from opening it further. ‘Before you jump in, you should know this. The Emperor is hearing doubts about the reliability of Galileo's
observations
. Some are saying that this is all just an elaborate illusion.'

‘But we have seen new things appear in the heavens before.'

‘Yes, we have, but these are powerful voices, very persuasive. I tell you because what you advise will form the basis of His Majesty's
position
on these claims.' Von Wackenfels held Kepler's gaze. ‘We cannot let our own desire for novelty colour this judgement.'

‘I understand. I'll be cautious.'

When he was alone, Kepler placed the book on the table and sat down. He tapped his fingers on the cover, afraid now to open it. Then, decision made, he turned to the first page and began to read.

When von Wackenfels returned, Kepler could not tell how much time had passed. He found it difficult to speak.

‘Well?' asked the Privy Counsellor.

‘I have tried to be sceptical but …'

‘Yes …'

‘Everything has changed.'

‘He is trustworthy?'

‘He writes with the pen of truth. There is no façade in this work, I can tell. The four new stars associated with Jupiter – he draws their position night after night and shows clearly that they are in orbit around that mighty orb. They are moons of Jupiter. Perhaps there are moons around the other worlds too, waiting to be discovered. And
there is so much more he has seen. The Milky Way is a river of stars stretching through space and, perhaps most importantly of all, our own Moon has mountains …'

‘Some say his claims are outrageous.'

‘The wonders in this book are beyond anything a human could imagine on a whim. If there was any doubt before, this proves it: Aristotle's universe is smashed into a thousand pieces.'

Von Wackenfels held up his hands in surrender. ‘You forget, my friend, I am no philosopher. What is Aristotle's universe?'

‘In the fourth century
BC
, Aristotle described the universe as being made of four base elements: earth, water, air and fire. Earth necessarily sits at the centre of everything because it is composed of the heaviest element. Water sits on earth; air on water; and fire rises above them all. Then Aristotle introduced a fifth element, the ether. This divine substance floats above everything else and makes the heavens. It is condensations in the ether that we see as the celestial objects.'

‘I still don't see what you're getting at.'

‘If there are mountains on the Moon, it cannot be made of the ether, which Aristotle said was a perfect substance. The Moon must be made of earth, perhaps water, air and fire, too. If it's made of all these heavy elements then, according to Aristotle, it should be drawn to the centre of the universe. So, why has it not come crashing down on us? Don't you see? The fact that the Moon stays up there proves that Aristotle cannot be right. Everything we thought we knew about the celestial bodies is wrong.'

Von Wackenfels chewed his bottom lip. ‘You cannot be mistaken about this, Johannes. As yet, there are no other astronomers prepared to back Galileo.'

‘Very well, I will write to him and ask him directly for a list of people who can confirm his discoveries. Of course, if I had one of the optical tubes, I could see for myself.'

Von Wackenfels rolled his eyes. ‘I should have anticipated that request. Very well, I'll see what I can do.'

‘It is Johannes Kepler, is it not?'

The stranger's voice took the astronomer by surprise. He had ducked into the tavern on the way home in the hope of avoiding the
nightly battle of sending his children to bed. Also, he wanted to savour the thrill of Galileo's discoveries in peace.

Insulated from the outside world by the noise of the other patrons, Kepler sipped his ale and contemplated what he had read in the
Siderius Nuncias
. As he did so, a new thought seeped into his mind: had he been duped? What if it were indeed a colossal prank? Why would God create celestial objects and then hide them away from man's sight for so long? What if Galileo was on a par with some of the more obvious flim-flam artists who arrived at court claiming to be able to create miracles?

In the market square Jerome Scoto huddled inside a wooden booth. Once he had been the greatest alchemist in Prague, advising Rudolph and directing experiments in the fume-ridden basement of the castle. Now, after making the mistake of being caught in some trick, he was reduced to peddling crystals to the unwary for loose change, the coloured beads supposedly imbued with mystical power.

Kepler knew that he must urgently write to Galileo requesting confirmation. He could not afford to suffer the same fate as Scoto.

‘It is you, isn't it? What a stroke of luck,' the voice said.

Kepler glanced up. The man looked respectable enough, dressed in a black suit. Twin beads dangled from the ends of his collar, keeping them flat against his chest. He was young, with an honest face and a clear complexion.

‘Do I know you?' asked Kepler.

‘No, sir, you do not, but I have been sent to find you with an
important
request. I represent a powerful lord, who would have you cast his horoscope.'

‘I'm rather too busy to play the prophet at the moment,' said Kepler, thankful that this conversation had not taken place at home where Barbara could have heard him turn down work and thereby money.

‘You misunderstand me, sir. My patron is a most extraordinary man.'

‘And you misunderstand me. My work is intended for people who understand philosophy, not for those infected by credulity, who think that an astronomer can pluck eventualities from of the heavens. The stars wield an influence over us certainly but not a directive kind, more
suggestive
. Only a man's true resolve can determine his actions. Only an
intelligent
man can benefit from the kind of true astrology that I practise.'