Sky's Dark Labyrinth (27 page)

The tiny cottage in Leonberg was more or less as Katharina had left it. The gate creaked a little more than when she had fled and someone had heaved a stone through the window, but apart from that it was much the same as before.

As Kepler unloaded their travelling cases from the carriage, a few onlookers gathered in their drab smocks. One of them cocked his head. ‘Aren't you her son? Have you brought her back?'

Kepler ignored the question and hurried inside. The spiders had been busy, and there was a musty smell. On the floor, there were rat droppings. Katharina brushed them away while Kepler lit a fire from the few thin logs his mother had stored.

‘Where do you keep your candles?'

‘In the box on the mantelpiece.'

He opened the wooden container. There were a few stubs of wax. ‘These are barely enough to read by for a single evening.'

‘What do I need with reading? Are you hungry?' she said. ‘I left some cheese somewhere, we can trim it up.'

‘Mother, I'll go and buy us something from the inn. In the morning, we can get fresh eggs and bread.'

Katharina pulled a face. ‘Have it your way. I can't get used to your city living.'

A violent banging on the front door roused Kepler from his sleep.

‘Open up, Katharina Kepler.'

‘That's him. That's Einhorn,' hissed Katharina as Kepler raced
downstairs
, his clothing dishevelled from an uncomfortable night on the floorboards.

The banging continued. She followed him, chewing her nails.

‘Leave this to me,' said Kepler. He straightened his shirt, threw his jacket round his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair before opening the door.

Under different circumstances, Magistrate Luther Einhorn might have been considered a handsome man. His face culminated in a dimpled chin and his shoulder-length hair was thick and wavy. He held himself bolt upright, even though this meant he was too tall for the front door. Kepler stood his ground as the new arrival bent to look him in the eye.

‘Stand aside,' said the Magistrate.

‘It's not my mother you should be coming for but those who seek to slander her. I have written to Tübingen to explain this. We have nothing to fear from you.'

Einhorn's mouth twisted into a lopsided smile, destroying the façade of good looks. ‘We've heard from Tübingen. That's why we're here.'

‘To apologise, no doubt,' said Kepler but his bravado was ebbing.

‘It seems that you don't have the influence you'd like to think you have.'

The Magistrate signalled to his men, who pushed past Kepler. The chains they carried rattled, and Einhorn raised his voice. ‘Katharina Kepler, you are under arrest on the vehement suspicion of witchcraft. I have a charge sheet of forty-eight items that you must account for.'

The old woman backed away as the men advanced with the shackles held open. ‘Surely it does not have to be like this,' she said. ‘I have a silver cup, Magistrate, enough for you and your men …'

‘Mother!' Kepler shouted.

Einhorn smiled broadly. ‘I think the charge sheet has just grown to forty-nine. Take her away.'

Kepler had been in the cell for only a few minutes but already felt
claustrophobic.
In a place like this, even the strongest man's resolve would shrivel like an unpicked fruit in the midst of a drought.

At least there was daylight, spilling in from an open window
criss-crossed
by metal bars. There was a smattering of straw covering the stone floor, and a tiny plate of gruel that Katharina had not touched. She sat with her back against the wall, avoiding the shaft of sunlight. Her hands were manacled.

‘What am I going to do?'

‘Just tell the truth, mother. They cannot harm you for that.'

The sound of the guards unlocking the door drew her to her feet. Einhorn ducked inside. He looked freshly coiffed and wore a heavy black cloak that buttoned at his neck and flared from his shoulders to his knees. He looked at Kepler. ‘You must leave.'

‘I demand to be present.' Kepler stepped close, lowering his voice. ‘I know of your drinking session with her accusers.'

Einhorn's face betrayed nothing yet he said, ‘Very well. In this instance you may stay. But say nothing.'

Kepler looked at Katharina's drawn face, hoping to transmit the minor triumph. ‘Remember, mother, nothing but the truth.'

‘Yes, that's all we want Katharina, the truth.' Einhorn stepped forwards, eclipsing Kepler's view. The Magistrate's voice was
conciliatory
, almost friendly, and Kepler felt a stab of hatred.

A man edged into the room, carrying parchment and quills, and set about unfolding a small writing table and stool.

‘What's he for?' asked Katharina.

‘To record your confession.' Einhorn smiled. ‘It's not just Ursula Reinbold who has levelled a complaint. The schoolmaster now says that you gave him the potion too, and that he became lame as a result.'

‘He became lame because he was drunk and fell into a ditch.'

‘Then there is the Haller girl.'

‘She's just work-shy.'

‘So you admit to harming her.'

‘I never touched her.'

Einhorn circled Katharina, talking pointedly. ‘That's not the story I heard. She claims that while she was carrying chalk to the limekilns you did reach out and touch her when no one was looking. It caused such pain in her arm that she had to be sent home.'

‘Not even the brickmaker believed her story. She was just trying to avoid work.'

‘It is also said that livestock become agitated when you're nearby.'

‘Lies,' said Katharina.

Einhorn straightened himself, made a show of nonchalantly removing his gloves. ‘You were brought up by your aunt, were you not?'

Kepler dropped his head, knowing where this was going.

His mother nodded, pursing her lips. She knew too.

‘What happened to her?'

Katharina lifted her chin, said nothing.

‘I'm waiting, Katharina.'

She clenched her fists.

‘Katharina …' His eyes were burning. ‘Tell the truth.'

‘She was burned for witchcraft, as you well know,' said Katharina. ‘I can't change what happened to her.'

‘Indeed, you can't. You were raised by a witch.'

‘I've done nothing wrong.'

Einhorn pulled the gloves through one hand. ‘Do you know what prickers are used for?'

Katharina looked at her son with desperate eyes. He felt as though he would suffocate with frustration.

‘They're hooked needles, about this long.' Einhorn held his two forefingers about eight inches apart. ‘Designed to find the dead spots where witches have suckled their imps. If we were to use them on you, Katharina, how long before we'd find a dead spot?'

‘You can't do that!' cried Kepler.

‘Can't I? Tell me, Herr Kepler, you're a religious man. What would you say if I told you I have a young girl's testimony in which she says your mother told her that there is neither Heaven nor Hell, and that when we die everything is over, just as it is for the senseless beasts.' Einhorn crossed his arms, looking smug.

‘Mother?' Kepler gasped, searched her face. She hurriedly looked away and glared at the Magistrate.

‘I'm not afraid of you,' she said, though there was a quiver in her voice.

‘Better to confess now and save yourself the terror of the torture chamber. Why prolong this agony?'

‘I have nothing to confess.'

‘Is it true what you said about Heaven, mother?' Kepler stammered.

‘Answer him, Katharina. Don't you want to go to God with a clear conscience?'

She said nothing.

‘Very well. Perhaps you'll explain yourself tomorrow to the district torturer. Guard,' he called over his shoulder, ‘I'm done here.'

Kepler rushed into the tavern the next day to buy food to take to the gaol. As he waited to be served, he noticed the scribe hunched over a plate of bread and cheese. The man became intent upon his meal when he caught sight of the astronomer.

Kepler went over. ‘Something's wrong with all this.'

‘I cannot talk about it. We must let justice take its course.'

‘What justice is there in terrorising an old woman? For pity's sake, man, what do you know that I don't?'

The scribe looked away into the fire, conflict written on his face. Kepler pressed on. ‘It's the easy way to make sense of the world, isn't it? Bundle up everything we don't understand and call it
witchcraft
. Sudden death, crops failing, animals dying: all robbing us of food. But it's a trap, because as soon as we start to believe in evil, we see it everywhere and become scared of it. You know my mother is not a witch; she's just a poor old woman. Why do this to her when she only has a few more years to live? Because she's ugly? Because she's been lucky enough to live a long life? Or because it takes the blame off everyone else for their failures? And when she's gone, what then? Babies will still die for no apparent reason. People will still go hungry. So, you'll need to find another witch and burn her too. How many do you have in mind? Two? Five? A hundred? Where is this all going to end?'

The scribe began to talk. ‘There was not enough evidence to warrant your mother's death. Yet there was enough suspicion that the prosecution has been granted the right of
territio verbalis
. She will be shown the instruments. The torturer will explain what he will do to her with them. They'll hold the branding irons so close she'll feel the heat.'

‘But he cannot actually torture her, can he? That's what you're keeping from us. The verdict is
territio verbalis
. All my mother has to do is continue to protest her innocence.'

‘She'll confess; they all do. Then she'll be burned.'

Kepler sent the scribe's table crashing to one side. Food and beer flew through the air, sizzling in the fire. A pewter tankard clattered on the filthy flagstones. The scribe leaped up, tripping over his stool and into a nearby table, creating even more noise and mess.

‘Hey!' shouted the barman.

But Kepler had vanished.

He bolted from the tavern in a headlong rush for the gaol. Dodging puddles, he nearly went sprawling as he collided with someone coming out of a doorway. He called out an apology and kept running. Heads turned to see him pass and geese scattered. He ignored them all, intent only on reaching his mother to deliver his message of hope.

But by the time he arrived, she had already been taken to the dungeon.

Only his mother's stubborn nature would save her now. If only he had seen through this sham earlier and warned her. He paced the streets, orbiting the stone tower of the gaol.

Next, he tried crouching down and bowing his head in prayer.

Dear Lord, please restore my mother's faith. She means no harm. She is aged and simple and sometimes confused
.

But it seemed inadequate. He was shocked to even think it, but he doubted the slow turn of Heaven could save her today. He wanted to shout, cry, run away, break down the cell door. He wanted to do all these things and none of them. When he walked away to ease some of the tension that tore at him, he worried that he should be at the gaol. Yet, when he stayed put, he felt as though he would explode.

Einhorn swept towards him, his face thunderous. ‘She's inside,' said the Magistrate without breaking his stride. ‘What's left of her.'

Kepler rushed into the gloom, tripping on the narrow flight of steps that led to the torture chamber. The only illumination came from the red coals in the brazier and the glowing poker that was lodged within them. The room stank of sweat. The bare-chested torturer was hanging fearsome metal implements, covered in spikes, back on the wall. ‘Get her out of here,' he snarled.

Katharina was bent double clutching her stomach. She looked so small.

‘It's over?'

‘Yes, it's over,' said the brute.

‘Mother?'

She did not move until he drew close enough to support her. Her fingers gripped his wrist so lightly that he barely felt their touch. He
wished for the strength to lift her in his arms and carry her back to the cottage, but he too was trembling.

Emerging into the daylight, they said nothing on the way home, just doggedly put one foot in front of the other and ignored the looks they drew. He listened to her ragged breathing and fought back his tears. She had beaten them. But this did not feel like victory.

When, at last, they reached home, he led her upstairs to her room. ‘How did you resist them?' he asked as she curled up on the thin mattress.

Katharina began to weep quietly. ‘I don't know.'

What warmth the day had possessed disappeared with the sunlight. Kepler climbed the creaking stairs to lay another blanket on his mother. She was awake as he entered the tiny room, staring at the ceiling.

‘Are you going to ask that girl to marry you?'

It took him a moment to register the question. ‘Mother, I hardly know her.'

She turned her canny eyes towards him, and he cursed himself for being so transparent. In the month they had spent in Linz preparing to return to Leonberg, he had thought his frequent visits to Baroness Starhemberg had been explained by his numerous excuses. First, he told his mother he wanted to gather a few more details, then to update the Baroness on the progress of her chart, then to give her a
preliminary
reading. His mother had seen right through him.

Perhaps he had carried home his elation the day Susanna kept him company while he had been waiting for the Baroness. Susanna asked him to tell her about the stars, and he launched into an explanation of the various zodiacal signs and their influences over the body. When he stumbled over his words, explaining how Leo ruled the heart, aware of just how fast his own was beating, she spoke up. ‘Forgive me. I did not make myself clear. I refer to the true meaning of the stars, as you have discovered.' She grew a little embarrassed at his incredulous look, casting her eyes down and explaining that his eminence had been discussed at dinner the previous night.