The Cabinet of Curiosities (6 page)

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Chapter Nine

Anselmus and Lukas arrived at the door to the Emperor’s quarters ten minutes early. Lukas liked the feel of his new silk gown. It was much smoother than scratchy wool. And he was fascinated by the way the colour shimmered in the light. He was also very nervous. So was Anselmus. He was muttering to himself, running over what he was going to say. Lukas was under strict instructions not to talk. So he looked around the gloomy Castle portal and at the mysterious crests and coats of arms that had been painted on the walls.

The Castle clock struck eleven. Anselmus snapped out of his muttering trance. Confidently advancing towards the great iron and wooden door, he banged its ornate silver-plated knocker with great authority. The sound echoed through the stone corridors.

There was a scuffle of feet behind the door and the rattle of several locks and bolts. A tall, imposing figure ushered them into the vestibule, then a larger room beyond.

‘His Majesty will summon you shortly,’ said the courtier.

Lukas looked around. The Emperor’s quarters were grander than Anselmus’s but the clutter was much the same. Every horizontal surface was covered with piles of books or ornaments or strange objects. Despite the carpets, tapestries and fires that burned in two fireplaces, the room had a dismal chill.

There were several paintings stacked around the room and hung on the wall. Most had a disturbing eroticism about them – depictions of naked women, with flushed, lascivious faces. Rosy cheeks and rosy bottoms. One great canvas that immediately caught his eye showed the Last Judgement. On the left of the picture, scores of naked men and women rose up to the blue skies of heaven. On the right side, hordes of equally naked people were being corralled by demons with pitchforks and driven into burning pits. That wasn’t all they were doing to them either. Lukas blushed. Above it all, surrounded by a halo of sunlight, a beatific Jesus gazed down with benign indifference.

Lukas noticed a small gold timepiece resting on top of a pile of open books by a large windowsill. It would be easy to slip it into his robe. The temptation was huge, but Lukas resisted. That was the sort of thing Etienne would do.

A courtier appeared, and Anselmus and Lukas were ushered into another, larger room. This one was even more chaotic. Among the books and ornaments stood an impassive figure.

‘Your Excellency,’ said Anselmus in German, ‘may I introduce to you my apprentice, Master Lukas Declercq.’

Lukas shot to attention and, as instructed, bowed low and long. When he stood upright again, the Emperor was holding his gaze and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod of his head.

On his travels to Prague, Lukas had seen Rudolph’s likeness every day on coins. Now here he was, in the same room as the most famous man in the Empire.

Lukas was mesmerised. Draped over his shoulders Rudolph had a great fur and velvet cloak. Beneath he wore a finely embroidered tunic of a rich brown hue. His breeches were fashioned from the same material. Fine white silk stockings and buckled suede shoes completed his outfit.

His beard and hair were cropped short, in the Roman style. He had a great thrusting jaw and fleshy lips, which gave him the look of an obstinate bulldog. But what struck Lukas most were his eyes. There was a great sadness there, he thought.

Lukas was taller, he noticed, but the Emperor still presented a fine figure and strode with vigour towards an elaborate cabinet with many small drawers, each intricately decorated with mother-of-pearl motifs.

‘We have gemstones, just arrived from Asia Minor,’ the Emperor said to Anselmus. ‘Can you tell us of their worth? And we should like to know if these stones have healing properties.’

Anselmus examined the gems. ‘They are of exemplary quality, Your Excellency,’ he said, ‘especially the lapis lazuli. You might have noticed the rare intensity of the blue, comparable with the jewellery from the Pharaoh’s tomb which I acquired for the Cabinet last year. There are gold flecks in the rock, as one would expect, but no trace of calcite veins. Such material would have a marvellous restorative effect, Your Excellency. Lapis lazuli is especially renowned for its capacity to cure melancholy.’

The Emperor listened intently. ‘And how should these stones be made use of?’ he asked.

‘I would suggest that the largest piece be polished and then fashioned into a pendant to be worn close to the heart. It is said that the life force within the stone is effective in keeping the soul free from error, fear and envy. The smaller pieces should be mixed with honey and wine and ingested.’

Rudolph gave a gentle smile. ‘Then see to it, my dear Declercq. We leave it with you.’

Lukas was pleased to note that the Emperor did not have a haughtiness about him – such as he would have expected from the most powerful man in Europe. Instead he seemed to have a mighty, impenetrable detachment.

Anselmus then began to examine the Emperor, as he did on every visit. He checked his pulse, eyes, posture and skin for any signs of disorder. Then he asked for ‘the samples’ and Rudolph clapped his hands. Another courtier appeared with two containers. The first, a narrow-necked flask, contained a pale yellow liquid. Anselmus held it up to the light, swilled it around, then took out the cork and sniffed it. Lukas, standing next to him, caught a whiff of urine. The second container was a covered pale porcelain bowl. Anselmus held his breath, quickly lifted and replaced the lid, and pronounced the Emperor’s stools to be healthy.

The routine inspection over, Anselmus assured the Emperor his body was in good health. Lukas realised with disappointment that it would soon be time to leave.

Rudolph reached for a small handbell and rang it. The courtier who had let them in appeared and within a few minutes they were back at Anselmus’s apartment.

‘So, Lukas, what did you make of our Emperor?’ asked Anselmus, almost eagerly. Lukas wondered whether he had been glad to have someone else with him.

‘It was a great honour, Uncle,’ he said diplomatically, but what he really wanted to say was that he felt perplexed. He had expected Rudolph to radiate some kind of luminous superhuman presence, but beneath his splendid clothes the Emperor seemed all too human. And after the hardship and poverty of his journey it was bizarre to be surrounded by so many things that were worth many months’ food and shelter. For a moment he thought of Etienne again. He would love to be able to tell him about what he had just seen.

‘Who are the “we” and “us” he talks about?’ asked Lukas.

‘It is a royal tradition,’ said Anselmus. ‘Monarchs of all descriptions refer to themselves as we and us. They mean “God and I”, I suppose, or “We, the living embodiment of the realm and its people”.’ He laughed at the absurdity, then looked sad. ‘His Highness suffers greatly from melancholy. It has grown worse in the time I have been observing him. And he is bedevilled by hypochondria.’

‘Uncle,’ said Lukas gingerly, ‘I know what melancholy is, but not hypo . . . whatever it was.’

Anselmus’s eyes widened in irritation, but he checked himself and spoke in a firm, calm voice. ‘Hypochondria. It is a Greek word. It is a disease of the mind where the patient fears they are suffering from ailments that are in fact imaginary. Today was a good day. Sometimes we have rages and sometimes we have dark silences.’

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Chapter Ten

That afternoon Anselmus sent the largest of the lapis lazuli stones to the royal jewellers, to be polished and attached to a silver chain so it could be worn around the neck. Then he showed Lukas how to make the Emperor’s new medicine. He had him grind the remaining gemstones to a powder, ‘the finer the better’. Then he mixed it with wine, honey, cinnamon and olive oil. Lukas took it at once to the Emperor’s quarters.

He returned to see Anselmus welcoming a visitor to his apartment. ‘Lukas, my dear boy,’ he beamed, ‘this is my esteemed colleague and companion Doktor Albrecht Grunewald!’

Lukas bowed. Grunewald was as stout as Anselmus was lean, although he had an almost identical long white beard.

He smiled warmly at Lukas. Then a shadow crossed his face. ‘I was sorry to hear of your father,’ he said. ‘I have some sympathy for his beliefs. You will find in Prague, with our good Emperor to rule us, that men are left to follow their own faith without fear of the Inquisition. Indeed, they are allowed to do many things in the spirit of natural enquiry that would not be permitted in most other Christian realms.’

He paused in thought then said to Anselmus, ‘Which reminds me, did you notice a party of Spaniards arrive earlier this week?’

‘My nephew brought this to my attention,’ replied Anselmus.

‘Court ambassadors by the look of them,’ he said to them both. ‘I wonder what they’re doing here. I shall make it my business to find out.’

Then he turned back to Anselmus. ‘Look at this,’ he said excitedly, holding up the book he was carrying. ‘It contains Guarinonius’s formula for
Elixir vitae
.’

Lukas looked baffled. Grunewald turned the pages until he came to the section he wanted.

‘I doubt it really is the
Elixir vitae
,’ said Grunewald. ‘Immortality from a medicinal concoction – that would be too much to hope for. But I hear Pope Clement VIII took it when he was very ill, and he made a full recovery.’

Anselmus’s face lit up with fascination.

‘I entrust it to you, the great medicine maker,’ said Grunewald. ‘You must restore our Emperor to good health. This would be an unhappy realm without him.’

He took his leave with a pleasant smile.

‘This will be just the thing for the Emperor,’ said Anselmus. ‘I must wean him off the absurd treatment Doktor Krohl is subjecting him to.’

‘Who’s Doktor Krohl?’ asked Lukas. He had forgotten he had already met him in Golden Lane.

Anselmus sighed. ‘His Excellency has several physicians. Grunewald is one. He principally attends to the Emperor’s children and mistresses. Krohl is another. He has a rather grand idea of his own importance . . . and he doesn’t like me because I live here in the Castle –’ he smirked – ‘and he has a little cottage in Golden Lane.’ He went on. ‘His greatest flaw is his enthusiasm for magnetic remedies. I have no time for them. A lodestone may indeed point north, and attract iron particles, but I cannot see how it would draw the black vapours that cause melancholy from His Excellency’s body . . .

‘Anyway, look at this.’ Anselmus pointed excitedly at the text. ‘Guarinonius learned of the remedy in a dream. And now we have it here. Let me see what we will need.’

Anselmus paused and wiggled his finger about, pointing this way and that and talking quietly to himself. ‘Zedoary, calamus, elder root we have in the garden . . . the Emperor’s apothecary has nutmeg and ginger . . . cinnamon I have in my kitchen . . .’

After supper Anselmus donned his fur cloak. ‘We must go to the Castle herb garden to gather our ingredients tonight,’ he said to Lukas. ‘As I’m sure you know, the effectiveness of medicines is very dependant on the time of day they are harvested.’

Lukas was excited. He was keen to visit the gardens that lay beyond the northern wall.

On every stage of their route through the ramparts, over the bridge and into the Royal Gardens, guards bowed and opened any barrier that lay before them. Lukas felt proud of his uncle, recognised wherever he went, having doors and gates opened on his command.

‘We are in luck,’ said Anselmus. ‘The elder root must be plucked just before a full moon. And we are at that exact stage of the lunar cycle.’

It was a warm, bright night. The moonlit Castle looked beautiful and the Royal Gardens were bursting with extraordinary smells.

The quiet of the place, as they walked there, was unnerving. Apart from the call and response of hooting owls, all Lukas could hear were their own footsteps scrunching on the gravel path. The trees were beginning to sprout summer leaves but they still had something of their skeletal winter look in the pale light of the moon. Lukas drew in great lungfuls of night air.

Anselmus told Lukas how to recognise each herb, and what it did for a patient. ‘Elder root: excellent for quinsies, sore throats and strangulations. Calamus: a sure cure for the intestinal worm.’ He knew exactly where to look and they found their herbs quickly.

‘Back to our warm fire,’ he said. Lukas was disappointed. He was enjoying being out in the night air.

A low growling noise stopped them in their tracks. It came from somewhere close to the gate.

‘What was that?’ said Anselmus. His fear was infectious and Lukas was immediately afraid.

‘Walk back to the gate. Don’t run, but be quick,’ whispered Anselmus.

‘But it came from by the gate,’ said Lukas.

‘So it did. So it did.’ Anselmus grabbed his nephew by the arm and hurried him further into the garden.

The growl came again. A guttural snarl Lukas could feel in his chest.

Anselmus now looked terrified. ‘Nothing makes a noise like that . . . apart from the Emperor’s lion.’

They could hear snuffling now and panting.

‘A tree. We’ve got to climb a tree,’ fretted Lukas.

The garden was full of extraordinary trees. There were several close by that looked easy enough to climb. ‘Help me up,’ said Anselmus, pointing to a slender trunk covered in beautiful white blossom. The panting was getting closer.

Lukas made a stirrup with his hands and Anselmus hauled himself up into the thin branches. Then he leaned forward, offering his arm to help Lukas to pull himself up. But as he took Lukas’s weight, the branch began to creak and Anselmus instinctively released his grip.

Lukas heard a great roar right next to him. He looked over to see a young lion, somewhere between a cub and an adult. In a second the creature was upon him. But rather than maul him, it rubbed its mane against his legs. Instinctively Lukas began to stroke its fur. The lion gave a contented yawn, his sharp teeth glistening in the moonlight. An awful catty stench filled the air, worse than any animal Lukas had ever smelled before.

‘He wants you to give him something to eat,’ whispered Anselmus.

‘What do you suggest?’ said Lukas desperately.

The lion was growling now, and snuffling around Lukas’s crotch. He was getting restless. ‘Uncle, pull me up, before he takes a bite out of me.’

Anselmus relented. He reached down an arm and pulled with all his might. Lukas scrambled up, distracting the lion with a snowstorm of white blossom dislodged from the tree.

They both clung to the trunk, resting their feet on the sturdiest branches, so close they were almost nose to nose. The lion sat below.

Lukas shifted his weight and the branch beneath his feet cracked and broke right off, leaving him dangling by his hands. The lion was on his feet in an instant. Lukas could feel the wind from its wafting claws on his swinging foot.

Anselmus pulled Lukas back as yet another branch gave an ominous crack.

‘This tree isn’t going to last much longer with the two of us up it,’ said Anselmus. ‘We need to distract this creature while you run to another tree. There’s one close by.’ He looked guilty. ‘I would go myself, but I am not so agile.’

Lukas took off one of his boots. He called down to the lion and swung the boot by its laces. The creature stretched out its body and began to paw at it.

Then Lukas threw the shoe as far as he could and the lion galloped after it into the darkness. Taking his life into his hands he leaped down and sprinted to the next tree. By the time he scrambled up it, the beast’s claws were reaching for his feet.

As he reached the safety of the lower branches, a startled bird fluttered up in panic. Lukas almost lost his grip. As he clung on tight he saw the bird was tied to the tree by a tiny golden chain. When the chain pulled tight, the bird gave a shriek of alarm and fluttered down to the top branches.

‘What’s that?’ he hissed.

‘One of the Emperor’s parrots,’ said his uncle.

Their voices carried easily in the still night air.

‘What do we do now?’ said Lukas when he had caught his breath.

‘We wait, nephew,’ said Anselmus.

‘But it’s cold,’ said Lukas. It was too. April nights were cold enough to produce a frost in the morning. ‘Can’t we call for help?’

‘No,’ said Anselmus. ‘The Emperor might be sleeping in the Summer Palace. You can see it there, at the far end of the garden. If we wake him, he will be very angry with us. Being eaten by a lion is probably preferable.’