Sky's Dark Labyrinth (9 page)

‘Do it!' Kepler began running, passing the curve of the Jesuit College and outpacing the lumbering wagons. He headed along the banks of the Vltava, where people were stopping to look at the procession. Pausing for breath, he looked back with them. The caravan was making its way across the Stone Bridge, heading for the Imperial Palace. Kepler pushed through the crowd and set off again.

He slowed only as he neared the university. Panting, he made his way inside and, after a brief search, found Jessenius in a room of preserving jars. The anatomist was lifting one to the light so that he could study its ghoulish contents.

‘Tycho is in Prague. It looks as though he is here to stay.'

Jessenius turned from his inspection. ‘Have you not heard? You do bury yourself away sometimes.'

‘Heard what?' asked Kepler.

‘Ursus is dead. Tycho is the new imperial mathematician. He is moving into the Golden Griffin, beneath the Palace, on Hradčany Hill.'

‘Jan, I beg you. Arrange a meeting with him for me. Let me persuade him to give me a second chance. I have spent this year selling fortunes. My brain withers without the challenge of his observations.'

Jessenius set down the jar, the unidentified clump inside jostling from side to side. ‘But you know how disastrous it was last time.'

‘I was ill, my mind was not my own.'

‘On the day I brought you home, Tycho whispered to me that all could be forgotten with a letter of apology yet you sent him one of abuse.'

‘I was raving with sickness, you know that. I behaved like a dog. But I am cured now, no traces of fever for months.' Kepler took a step forwards. ‘Please, Jan. No preconditions this time, I will do anything. Barbara is with child. I need a sponsor.'

Jessenius ran a finger across the tabletop. ‘Very well. I will see what I can do.'

Kepler thought it fitting that Tycho's household should take up
residence
in a former inn. Indeed, the Golden Griffin's serving room was the first location he saw when Jessenius held open the front door for him that morning. The wide space was lined with faded wooden panels and its trestle tables were still strewn with the remains of breakfast. An overturned goblet had spilled its contents onto the table, and the stain offered a hint of the wood's original colour.

Two servants were clearing away, piling up the leftovers and stacking the plates. One girl was tiny, easily mistaken for a child; the other was buxom, with wide hips. The men shook the rain from their hooded cloaks, drawing their attention. The big one ambled over and took their wet garments.

‘We're here to see Tycho,' said Jessenius.

‘Who isn't?' she muttered and listlessly went to announce their arrival.

‘Remember, Johannes, I'm taking a risk here for you today. One hint of your temper …'

‘I know.'

‘Tycho is now the most powerful mathematician in the world. You cannot upset him.'

‘I know.'

‘It's just that …'

‘Jan, I know.' Kepler turned. ‘I've learned my lesson.'

As Tycho approached them Kepler noticed that his face was fleshier than before and his overall bulk had increased. At his neck he wore a set of heavy gold chains that seemed to pull him into a stoop. A
stiff-legged
stalk had replaced his waddling gait. In his rounded breeches, his legs resembled giant upturned hams as they tapered to
unexpectedly
delicate ankles.

Tengnagel was just behind him; there was no spare room abreast in the corridor, but as they entered the bar, he took hold of Tycho's elbow. ‘Allow me, sir.'

‘I don't need your help.'

Tengnagel dropped back, contenting himself with a glare at Kepler.

Tycho stopped a few feet in front of them and greeted Jessenius. Then he faced Kepler and stepped forwards.

It was still impossible for Kepler to read those hazel eyes but it was no effort to hold their gaze. After a moment's appraisal, Tycho reached out his arms and drew a surprised Kepler into a bear hug. The Master smelled like food on the turn.

‘Welcome, Herr Kepler. I have missed you.'

‘And I you.' A wave of emotion enveloped Kepler. He masked it with some deep breaths.

They released each other and stepped back.

‘I see that your appetite has not improved this past twelve months.'

‘Astronomy and the love of God are the only food I crave, sir.'

Tycho laughed. ‘Do you know, I believe you.'

Jessenius departed, looking relieved. When Tycho asked Tengnagel to leave them alone too, the young man drilled his gaze once more into Kepler before strutting away.

‘I have something to show you, Johannes.' Tycho led the way to an antechamber inside which were a number of statues, their details masked by white sheets that covered them and reached to the floor.

‘These used to line the walls of my study at Hveen,' said Tycho. He snatched at the first sheet and jerked it upwards. It was a marble statue of an ancient Greek scholar. The inscription read
TIMOCHARIS
.

‘The Alexandrian who compiled mankind's first star catalogue,' said Kepler.

Tycho revealed another.

‘Hipparchus,' said Kepler. ‘His star catalogue showed that there was a precession of the equinoxes.'

Tycho nodded. He moved to the end of the line and unveiled the penultimate statue, watching Kepler carefully.

Kepler found it difficult to disguise his surprise. ‘It's you.'

‘Indeed it is. Am I not the greatest star charter in history? Do I not deserve to stand alongside these others immortals?'

‘Then who is the final one?' asked Kepler, with a fluttering sensation in his stomach.

Tycho seemed to hesitate before revealing the last figure. It took Kepler a moment to understand what he was seeing and to realise with shame what he had vainly hoped it would be. It was not a statue of him, but a caricature of Tycho: broader-shouldered with strong features, a proud jaw and a piercing stare.

‘Tychonides, my once imagined son. The person I dreamed would mould my observations into a new system of the planets. Ever since the duel, I knew that the person to make the best use of my
observations
would not be me. I hoped for a son and have been blessed with three, but not one is a mathematician; the curse on the Brahe line continues.'

Kepler walked around the statue as he listened to Tycho, admiring the quality of the work. Something in its sculpted gaze resonated in his soul.

‘So, I have to look to my assistants. There is Tengnagel, of course, but he lacks the application – he's to become my son-in-law, you know, God help us all. There is Longomontanus, though I fear I will soon lose him to Copenhagen. So, really, I am still searching for my Tychonides.'

‘Sir, I cannot match you in birth or breeding, but I can be your humble servant,' said Kepler.

A sound at the door drew both men's attention. Tengnagel stood there, undisguised curiosity on his face.

‘Sir, we need you to direct us about which room is to be your study …'

‘Not now, Tengnagel. Didn't I tell you I was not to be disturbed?'

‘It's important.'

‘Just wait!' Tengnagel dropped his gaze but remained at the door.

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 followed 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
.'