Sky's Dark Labyrinth (26 page)

‘I'd have settled for the very first one I was offered.'

Kepler looked from the stubble on the fellow's chin to the
snowstorm
of flecks on his dirty shoulders, then stumbled from the bar.

Outside, Kepler found it difficult to locate the correct road. He
staggered
around the characterless streets hoping for a landmark. Only when he reached the city gates with their dancing torches did things begin to look familiar. There were guards milling around the wooden gateway.

‘You sure you want to go out there tonight?' asked the scar-faced leader.

‘Just open the gate. I am my own person,' Kepler said indignantly.

The guard shrugged and signalled his men to open the gates.

Beyond the city, the darkness was complete. Some corner of his brain recognised the recklessness of his actions. The surroundings were bound to be crawling with brigands, all willing to slit his throat
for the few coins left in his purse. He walked on, convinced that he would feel the icy caress of a blade at any moment.

Topping a small hill he sank to the grass, registering the dew seeping through his breeches but not caring enough to stand up again. He scanned the town. It was a maze of dark streets, broken only by the occasional flame of a welcome torch, or the yellow flicker of candles inside a window.

As he watched, the waning moon lifted itself into the sky, laying its silver light across the rooftops. Kepler estimated that Earth's satellite had six days to go before it would become a new moon again. At that point, it would skulk past the Sun to re-emerge as the thinnest sliver in the evening sky. For a fortnight it would grow to fullness, then
progressively
shrink again, each phase betraying the changing angle made by the Moon, the Earth and the Sun.

In his intoxicated state, Kepler projected himself to the Moon. From those rugged mountains, the situation would be reversed. Earth would go through phases, growing to fullness and then shrinking away again. As it did so, it would reflect sunlight onto the Moon, easing the passage of the long lunar night.

A day on the Moon would not last twenty-four hours but a month. Each night would take a fortnight to pass with only the Earth to provide illumination. It would hover in the lunar sky like a dragonfly over a summer pond. The lunar people would surely think that it was constructed solely to provide them with light and construct their whole cosmology around it.

But this would be true for the near side only. The far side would endure its long nights in darkness. How desperate would those
inhabitants
feel? Unloved by God who had determined that they should be born on the far side. Would they wallow in despair?

Perhaps as they looked up at the stars they would realise the truth: that God had cast them for greatness by giving them the gift of astronomy and a fortnight of unbroken darkness every month to
exercise
their minds.

While the nearside population would revel in their supposed favour from God, those on the far side would make the true advances. They would eventually understand how Heaven worked and, in the process, bring themselves alongside their God.

The light of dawn guided Kepler back down to Linz. The
battle-scarred
soldier eyed him again as he entered the city alongside the traders and their laden carts. Thankfully the streets had returned to familiarity.

Rounding the final corner before he came to his house, Kepler stopped in his tracks. He must still be drunk; he was seeing things. To his blurry eyes, it looked as if a wizened little gargoyle was huddled on his porch step.

The creature turned its shrunken body and spoke to him. ‘Looks like I've arrived just in time.'

‘Mother?' said Kepler.

Katharina Kepler busied herself in the kitchen. She fished out clumps of leaves from her travel bag and dropped them on the chopping board. She stoked a fire from the piles of wood in the outhouse.

‘You have enough firewood, I see.'

‘I am not wanting in that respect,' said Kepler, cradling his pounding head.

She boiled up a variety of the leaves and ladled him a bowl of the steaming concoction.

Kepler wrinkled his nose at the smell. ‘Do I drink it or sniff it?'

‘Don't be clever. Drink it.'

He took a few sips of the hot liquid. The strong taste was more pleasant than some of the things his mother had made him drink. Before he was halfway down the wooden bowl, his head had cleared. ‘What are you doing here, mother?'

‘Is that any way to treat me after I've come all this way? I'm not going to sponge off you. I've brought these so I can pay my way.' She indicated the greenery spread around her. ‘Winter's coming up. People will want remedies.'

‘You're hiding something.'

Katharina brushed some unseen fleck from her sleeve. The window silhouetted her face, accentuating the sharp outline of her chin and nose. In the years since Kepler had seen her last, the flesh on her face had gone. She had never been a pretty woman but now she was old and ugly. She said, ‘There's some business back home I want to avoid for a while.'

‘What business, mother?'

She did not reply.

‘What have you got yourself involved in?'

‘It's not my fault, it's that Ursula Reinbold. We had an argument a few weeks ago. When I thought it was all over, I invited her in for a drink – gave her my best wine, too. Ungrateful woman said it was bitter and soon after she started saying other things, too.'

‘What things?'

‘Told anyone who would listen that I gave her a potion that made her sick.'

Kepler's headache returned. ‘How far has this gone?'

Katharina sniffed. ‘The magistrate summoned me. I thought he wanted to clear everything up, but when I got there, Ursula and her brother were there as well. They'd all been drinking. They called me a witch and demanded that I remove whatever curse I had placed on Ursula. When I told them I had done nothing, her brother drew his sword and told me he would run me through the heart if I didn't reverse the witchcraft.'

‘What did you do?'

‘I could hardly get the words out, I was shaking so much. I could feel the blade pressing on me. Told them I had nothing to do with any witchcraft. Then he grabbed Ursula by the arm, threw her at me and screamed that she should curse me in return. That's when the
magistrate
saw sense and called an end to it.'

‘Oh, mother, I'm so sorry. Tell me, what's the magistrate's name?'

‘Einhorn, Luther Einhorn.'

‘I will write to Tübingen at once. The law faculty must know of these irregularities. Then we must return to Leonberg so that we can bring a case of slander against the Reinbolds.'

‘Go back?'

‘Not immediately, but it's the only way if we're to clear your name.'

Katharina wiped her eyes. ‘I knew you'd know what to do. I've told them all about you. How clever you are, how proud I am of you.'

She placed herself into his embrace, and he closed his arms around her. There was nothing of her, just bones and skin.

A new thought jolted into his mind. ‘I'm late.'

He had accepted a request from Baroness Starhemberg to favour her with a reading. As much as he still hated such tasks, it would perhaps be his easiest route into Linz's more rarefied strata. He collected his things, Katharina dogging his every step.

‘You can't go out in those clothes. They're filthy,' she said.

‘I'm a little behind on my washing.'

His mother's expression was a mixture of amusement and anger, the way she used to look when he was a child and had forgotten to do some chore or another. ‘I'll do them while you're out,' she said, ‘and I'll cook something, too. We need to put some flesh on you if we're ever going to find you another wife.'

Kepler regretted falling behind with his washing the moment he saw the Baroness. She was wearing an immaculate chocolate brown dress with matching stays. Her eyebrows rose as she took in Kepler's rather shabby appearance.

His mother had flicked some herbal scent all over him as he had left and he had brushed much of the dried mud from his breeches as he had dashed through the streets, but nothing could compensate for the fact that his clothes were well and truly dirty.

‘Forgive me, Baroness, I spent the night on the hillside, engaged in lunar observations. I regret my attire is entirely inadequate.'

His remorse was absolute when the Baroness moved to reveal a beautiful young woman a few paces behind her. Dressed in fawn, with the smallest waist Kepler could remember seeing on a grown woman, she was waiting with perfect decorum, the whisper of a smile playing on her lips.

‘This is Susanna Reuttinger, my companion,' said the Baroness.

Susanna
…

‘Such a pretty name,' said Kepler. ‘My daughter shares it with you.'

Her complexion was as pure as moonlight, and, despite her slender figure, her cheeks were as round as apples when lifted in a smile. Kepler couldn't help but return her smile.

There was little room for manoeuvre in the gloomy loft space. Bent double and silently cursing the awkwardness of his task, Galileo inched past the telescope and its tripod in order to get to the south-facing eaves. He was carrying a knife.

The sound of puffing drew his attention.

‘There's no point in you trying to join me, Benedetto. You won't fit through the hatch.' It had been a squeeze for Galileo, but he was not going to admit it.

The monk's balding head appeared through the opening. ‘Nevertheless, I'll be able to see the image you project.'

Galileo dug the blade through the plaster and cut a hole the size of a coin. Then, he levered the blade under the exposed roof and eased a tile to one side. A shaft of sunlight split the air.

‘Perfect,' he said. ‘Now, let us see what this Apelles is talking about.'

Galileo ran his hands across the broken plaster and clapped them to release the dust. The tiny flecks twinkled in the needle of sunlight. Galileo matched the angle of the telescope to the brilliant shaft then manouevred the telescope to the hole, so the sunlight fell into the tube.

Castelli coughed in the plaster dust, drawing the folds of his habit over his mouth. ‘Who do you think Apelles is?'

‘It's clearly a pseudonym. Whoever it is attacks me and my views, and then gets some German amateur I've never heard of to forward the letters to me.' Stepping over Castelli, Galileo pulled an easel with a canvas into place. The image of the Sun appeared on the surface. It was as bright and as big as Castelli's head. ‘There! There they are: the spots on the Sun,' announced Galileo, crouching level with the reflection.

The burning disc was almost featureless except for two spots. They were little more than the size of tack heads and slightly misshapen. Although their centres were as black as pitch, the edges were ragged grey, dissolving into the bright surface.

Castelli had twisted round to look for himself. ‘It's just as Apelles says.'

‘No, it isn't. He claims that sunspots are the silhouettes of
previously
unknown moons. But look at them, these are clearly surface markings.'

‘So why does this Apelles claim that they're not?'

‘It's yet another desperate effort to shore up the Aristotelian doctrine that the heavens are unchanging. If the markings were
silhouettes
, it would mean the solar surface remains blemish free, and Aristotle lives on. I tell you, I can scarcely believe that such ignorance persists among us. Trying to explain a new phenomenon with old philosophy is a path to ridicule.'

The bell of San Matteo struck. Galileo's mouth opened in alarm. ‘You've made me late. Move, Castelli.' Galileo dropped onto his buttocks, sending dust billowing, swung his legs through the hatch and waved a foot in search of the stepladder. Castelli caught his ankle and guided it to the top rung.

‘Late for what?' asked the monk as Galileo completed his unsteady descent.

‘Virginia takes her vows today. Come, we must hurry.' Galileo wiped his hands across his chest, leaving streaks on the smock. ‘Fetch my tunic.'

Castelli looked around, spotting a black garment on a chair. ‘This one?'

‘Yes, yes.' Galileo held his arms out for Castelli to slip the long piece of clothing up onto his shoulders. It had no sleeves but hung to the floor. Galileo arranged the front to cover the dirty marks. ‘Now, let's make haste.'

Despite the bright sky, the chill of winter was in the air. Galileo
shivered
. ‘I don't suppose you feel the cold, do you?'

‘Feel it? I love it. I welcome the coldness with all my heart,' said his companion.

The mournful tolling guided them down the narrow street towards the bottom of the hill.

‘The question remains, who is Apelles?' puffed Castelli as they entered the shadow of the convent's high wall.

‘Oh, didn't I say? Christopher Scheiner of Ingolstadt.'

‘How do you know?'

‘I compared the handwriting with my collection of letters. Scheiner's fits perfectly.' He walked past the convent's entrance and continued to the church beyond.

‘Scheiner is a Jesuit.'

Galileo threw a grin over his shoulder. ‘Intriguing, isn't it?'

A familiar figure stood, back turned, by the church entrance.

Galileo came to an abrupt stop. ‘Marina,' he said, smelling her familiar perfume. ‘I didn't think you would make the journey.'

She looked up at him with puffy eyes. ‘You told me you would never let it come to this. You promised me you would find them husbands.'

Castelli dropped his head and shuffled in embarrassment. ‘I'll see you inside, Master.'

Galileo paused as the monk moved away. ‘Marina, I did what I could …'

‘Did you? Honestly?'

‘There were constraints on me.'

‘What constraints? You have the Grand Duke's ear.'

Galileo took in a breath. ‘Precisely because I am a member of the Grand Duke's court I have to consider appearances now. Virginia and Livia would need to marry men of standing, otherwise it would reflect badly on me – and on the Grand Duke. The trouble is … the trouble is, I cannot raise the dowries to attract such men.' He squirmed at the look of suspicion in her eyes.

‘You have money, Galileo. There must be someone.'

‘No, there isn't, Marina. It is better that the girls become nuns than marry beneath themselves.'

‘Don't lie to me.'

She always could see through him. He looked around for
inspiration
, some way to break the real news, but there was no way to soften this admission. She had caught him out. He lowered his voice. ‘I can find no spouses of standing for them because they are illegitimate. It is not the dowries that is lacking; it is their heritage.'

‘You're telling me that if you had married me, our daughters would be married now. I begged you to marry me, and you told me it would never matter.' Tears pooled in her eyes. Galileo reached out to comfort her but the venom in her voice made him withdraw his arm. ‘You told
me it would never matter! You've treated me no better than your own private whore.'

‘I love you.' The words were out of his mouth before he knew it.

She froze at the admission. There was a timeless instant in which Galileo's thoughts were as still as her expression, and then a sharp pain burst across his face. The flat of her palm flashed by his eyes, and his head turned with the force of the slap.

She folded her arms, the way she used to when Galileo had gone too far, and bit her bottom lip. ‘You have ruined their lives.'

‘I have plans for Vincenzio,' said Galileo hopefully. ‘The Grand Duke has promised to make him a Florentine citizen when he comes of age. He will have his pick of the women here.'

‘So, I will lose my son to Florence, too.'

‘It is Vincenzio's chance for a better life.'

Marina did not look back at him. ‘Of course.'

Inside, Galileo took a pew near the front. Castelli edged in next to him. The congregation stood to sing the first hymn. The massed voices of the nuns could clearly be heard through a black metal grille in the wall behind the altar but they were nowhere to be seen. Only afterwards would he be permitted to see Virginia, in the partitioned meeting parlour. Galileo kept watch on Marina's small form, isolated and alone on the other side of the chapel where she had deliberately stationed herself.

After the mass, the Abbess called Virginia's name and addressed her for the congregation to hear, drawing out the important words for emphasis: ‘You appear today in your new clothes, the Franciscan habit and veil. Entering into your marriage with Jesus is a profound change in your life. To symbolise this choice, you will leave behind the name you were given and choose a new name. What is the name that God has chosen for you?'

Virginia's clear voice rang through the chapel. ‘Henceforth I shall be known as Sister Maria Celeste.'

Across the line of pews, Marina wept openly.

Galileo took his seat in the convent's meeting parlour, a room divided into two by a wall. There was no adjoining door, just a trio of small windows with metal grilles. The room was a perfect mirror of the Franciscan nuns, the Poor Claires as the townsfolk called them. In
common with all who took the veil, the nuns had sworn their vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, but, in the case of the Claires, poverty was the defining trait.

Maria Celeste sat behind the grille, her oval face framed by a flowing wimple. She was taller than her mother, with a masculine nose and Galileo's full lips.

She should have been a son
.

‘Your mother's upset with me,' he said in hushed tones so as not to be overheard by the families sitting at the other windows. ‘Perhaps with good cause.'

He had wanted them to visit Virginia – Maria Celeste, as he must now think of her – together, perhaps even pretend that they were still close, but Marina had disappeared after the ceremony.

‘She thinks I've put my work ahead of you,' Galileo confessed, ‘that you should be married.'

Maria Celeste wrinkled her nose. ‘Married? I'm as happy as I can be. I have Jesus and you, why would I want any other man?'

‘And your sister? Does Livia feel the same?'

Virginia took a moment before answering. ‘She will learn to love what she has. We're safe here, that is most important.'

Galileo itched to tear down the partition and hug her. Despite
everything
she was saying, he felt as if he had lost his daughters for ever, and Marina as well. His eyes began to burn, and he dropped his head in shame.

‘Father, we are all told to listen to our hearts, and that God will whisper our chosen names to us. I knew my name when I awoke one night for no obvious reason. The stars were shining, and newly carved inside me was the name Maria Celeste. I knew at once that it was an acknowledgement of your astronomy.'

Galileo looked up, still struggling with his emotions. He managed a small shake of his head.

‘Yes. Would God have told me otherwise if you were a bad man?' Her eyes were imploring, deep and sincere. ‘I think you have his blessing for your work.'

Galileo waited in a shadowed doorway outside the convent long enough to regain his composure and to see Marina slip into the meeting room.
He turned to find Castelli, grateful for the monk's company because it forced him to return his attention to the job in hand. He could dwell on Maria Celeste's comforting words later when he was alone. For now, he welcomed a distraction. They made their way back up the hill, the twilight gathering around them.

‘I swear this gets steeper,' said Castelli.

‘Hurry up, I must reply to Apelles.'

‘Don't you want to eat?'

‘We can do that, too.'

‘It would be wise to keep in mind who Apelles really is. Father Scheiner is well respected, Galileo. Do you really want to attack the Jesuits?'

‘He leaves me no choice. Besides, he has made a serious mistake in choosing a pseudonym. Think: he has not published in his own name, nor through the Roman College. He is acting on his own, outside Jesuit rules.'

‘You think this makes him vulnerable?'

‘I do. Besides, if Grienberger ever asks, I'll simply say that I had no idea Apelles was one of his number. Your trouble, Castelli, is that you think too small; you have to look at the whole picture. The Jesuits are strong because they work together. But Apelles has given me the perfect opportunity to weaken their stranglehold on astronomy.'

‘You've been forbidden to defend Copernicus.'

‘But no one has said I can't attack the old ways of thinking.'

‘You're a braver man than I.'

Galileo reached around Castelli's shoulders and drew him near.

‘I've heard stories of tigers hunting on the Asian prairies. With
infinite
patience, one will stalk a herd. It watches and it waits for a foolish animal to stray from the safety of the others. Then it strikes.'

Galileo banged his fists together in front of Castelli's face, making him jump. Galileo laughed. ‘Father Scheiner has separated himself from the herd. Now, I will pick him off.'