Sky's Dark Labyrinth (6 page)

‘… The idea dates from the Greeks but no one has pursued it for a thousand years. As a planet moves through its orbit, so its sphere resonates and makes a note. Each planet makes a different note and together they form a divine harmony, musically rich and beautiful – for God could scarcely have designed things otherwise. Do you not agree?'

‘You're speaking to a man who hasn't taken communion in eighteen years.'

‘But you are working to reveal the glory of God.'

‘I prefer his indifference. And perhaps that is the best I can hope for after what I have seen. I know that the heavens vary their appearance, the very realm that Aristotle claimed to be immutable – I've seen it change. The new star of 1572; I watched it for two years, blazing brightly at me yet as fixed in its position as any of the stars. It had to be located on that final sphere – the very furthest from Earth – yet who will back me? No one. The philosophers still talk of it as being an atmospheric phenomenon of the Earth.'

‘I will back you. Together we can remake astronomy.'

‘But we differ on whether the Earth or Sun lies at the centre of creation,' said Tycho, as if discussing a triviality, but Kepler could hear the suspicion.

‘We can find common ground.'

The two men regarded each other; the only sound between them was Tycho's laboured breathing. Eventually he broke the silence. ‘Tell me of your background, Johannes. Is your father a learned man?'

‘My origins are not as noble as yours, Lord Brahe.'

Tycho's eyes flickered in a curious manner and he spoke brusquely. ‘Nevertheless, I am interested.'

Kepler scrutinised the globe, shuffling so that its great bulk was between him and Tycho. ‘I was born in Weil de Staadt. My mother is a herbalist. My father, well, my father was a soldier.'

Kepler's insides squirmed at that word – soldier. It meant only one thing: mercenary.

‘Do they live?'

‘My mother, yes. My father, no.' The sentence was only half correct. Aged seventeen, Kepler had watched from the shadow of a magnolia
bush as the man swaggered down the street, swigging from a flagon, letting the townsfolk know that he was off to war. It was soon
afterwards
that Kepler discovered his father had once fought a Protestant uprising in Holland, despite his own Lutheran roots. The realisation was sufficiently painful even now to flush Kepler with shame.

That departure was Kepler's last memory of his father. When the months turned into years, the family gave up waiting. Yet it was only recently that Kepler had stopped snatching a second look at any
grizzled
face that passed, just in case there was a resemblance.

His thoughts were drawn back by the sound of Tycho taking a deep breath. ‘I have to decide what to do with you.'

‘Sir?'

‘What task of calculation do I set you?'

Kepler turned at once. The Master was watching him carefully. ‘Mars perhaps? Longomontanus has done more than any man alive, yet he is mired. What if I were to ask you to work with him on it? I think that might suit you, would I be right?'

A shiver passed through Kepler. Did Tycho know of his conversation with Longomontanus? He spoke carefully. ‘I will not disappoint you. I will have its orbit in eight days.'

Tycho cocked his head. ‘Will you now?'

‘Eight days, sir, or I am not the greatest mathematical astronomer alive.'

‘I once thought that I was the greatest mathematician, too. You know what I got for it?'

Kepler shook his head.

‘This.' Tycho raised a finger and pointed at the metal nugget in his nose. ‘I fought a duel because a classmate dared to claim superiority with numbers over me. I knew he was more gifted but I couldn't admit it. And that sliver of truth allowed his blade to slip through. The constant ache of this wretched thing is my reminder of the cost of misplaced pride.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘We are a family here, Johannes. We work together.'

‘I understand.' But as he hurried away, Kepler's thoughts were full only of the discoveries he was soon to make.

By the time Bellarmine reached the steps leading to one of the giant doors of the Roman College, the building filled his entire field of view. He smiled inwardly; the Jesuits knew how to impress, and how to intimidate at the same time, if he were being honest. It was a formula that served them well. Even Pippe beside him had gone quiet.

The Jesuits had been in existence for only twenty years when Bellarmine had joined them, himself only just eighteen. In those days, Rome had been floundering, having still not recovered from its sacking by Emperor Charles V's mutinous hordes. It was an aimless city, its people undirected and the Pope's authority withered to a dry thread. In the face of this emasculation, the Jesuits had offered a new way forwards, a fearless way built on the intellectual mastery of spirituality, theology and philosophy.

Bellarmine thanked God every day for guiding him into their ranks. His father had hoped he would become a politician and restore the family's ebbing prestige, but his mother had seen the real path. She had believed in Church over State and had quietly urged him into the Jesuits. ‘They need thinkers like you,' she would whisper to him, stoking his young ambition. ‘Lutheranism is a plague; their beliefs are the buboes of evil. Only Catholicism can lead people to salvation.'

As Bellarmine had matured and studied, so he had watched Rome become strong again. As the buildings rose once more, so the people remembered their purpose, and a new determination took hold to lead the rest of Europe back to the one true Church. He also understood how the Jesuit determination had led this charge. The Vatican owed them a mighty debt. Without them … Bellarmine shuddered to think how far the Protestant heresies would have spread and how many souls would have been lost to the fires of damnation.

Reaching the top of the familiar steps, he glanced over at his hesitant companion. ‘Don't worry, Cardinal Pippe, Father Clavius can't take your birthday away from you again.'

Pippe pulled a sour face.

They disappeared into the shadows of the entrance hall, and the heat of the day dropped immediately. Bellarmine led the way through the stone pillars supporting the domed ceiling, down the lofty corridors that skirted the courtyard, and finally up a sweeping staircase to an office on the first floor.

He knocked and led Pippe inside to where Father Clavius was waiting behind a desk strewn with papers. The Professor of Mathematics radiated concern. His squat body comfortably filled the chair, and his snowy beard lined a square jaw. Below his black biretta, his brow was pinched into deep furrows.

‘I don't know you,' said Clavius in his age-deepened voice, staring past Bellarmine.

‘This is Cardinal Pippe, recently appointed to the Inquisition offices,' said Bellarmine.

Clavius cocked his head, ‘Dominican?'

‘Yes, sir,' Pippe answered with an unusual lack of volume.

‘Thank you both for coming over to see me. Please be seated.' The visitors settled into ornate wooden chairs, carved with griffin heads. ‘As this is a day for introductions, let me present Father Grienberger.'

Next to him stood a giant of a man in black Jesuit robes. He was perhaps a decade older than Pippe, with an unreadable expression that Bellarmine found both compelling and unnerving in equal measures. He remained standing.

‘Father Grienberger has distinguished himself in mathematics. I dare say he will follow me into this very chair when my time comes.'

Grienberger's face betrayed nothing.

‘Good. Let us proceed to the matter in hand.' Atop the various manuscripts and letters on Clavius's desk was a leather-bound book. Its cover bore the marks of repeated readings. Clavius placed a
liver-spotted
hand on it, as if taking an oath. ‘We hear from Prague that a Lutheran astronomer called Johannes Kepler has recently become an assistant to Tycho Brahe, the Imperial Mathematician to Rudolph II.'

‘Why should this concern us?' asked Bellarmine.

‘Kepler is a supporter of Copernicus,' said Clavius.

Pippe snorted, his trepidation forgotten. ‘Can the Lutherans reach any lower? This desire to claim the heavens for human reason is
abominable
. To lower the planets to the realm of human wit is to diminish God's glory. Why do we even discuss it?'

Bellarmine eyed Clavius. ‘I am wondering the same thing,' he said. ‘I thought the ideas of Copernicus were unworkable.'

Clavius scratched his brow. ‘Father Grienberger, please explain.'

‘Kepler is an original thinker. He came to our attention because of his book, the
Mysterium Cosmographicum
.' He indicated the tome beneath Clavius's fingers. ‘It's the first worthwhile defence of Copernicanism to be published. It's still unworkable, but Kepler has made advances in the way he treats the movement of the planets. Shortly after I saw this book, Hans Hewart von Hohenburg, the Bavarian Chancellor, contacted me with some questions of chronology. I placed him in correspondence with Kepler, to test the Lutheran's mathematical abilities.'

Bellarmine's shoulders were growing tight. ‘And …'

‘He solved everything Hewart asked of him. He is a mathematician without equal in the Lutheran Church, maybe in the whole world. Now that he has access to Tycho Brahe's measurements, he may surprise us and provide better predictions for the planetary positions than the traditional Ptolemaic method.'

‘Have you discussed this with the Praepositus Generalis?'

Clavius fidgeted. ‘Not yet, we wanted your theological advice first.'

‘There is more,' said Grienberger. ‘Tycho has observations of other celestial phenomena that cannot be explained by the traditional ways of thinking. He observed a comet in 1577 that moved through the crystal spheres.'

‘Wait! Ptolemaic method? Crystal spheres? You speak another language,' said Pippe.

‘Aristotle tells us that the heavens are composed of crystal spheres. The first major one contains the Moon, the second Mercury, then Venus, the Sun, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. The eighth is the sphere where the fixed stars are located. Beyond this is the realm of the Prime Mover, which turns the whole arrangement to give us night and day. In addition to this movement, each crystal sphere has a movement of its own, which is why the planets travel across the sky at different speeds from each
other and the stars. Ptolemy provided the mathematical recipe to
calculate
the position of the planets from the movement of the spheres.'

‘Yet you say this comet moved through the crystal spheres,' said Bellarmine.

‘How? How can it pass through them?' demanded Pippe, sliding to the edge of his seat.

‘We do not know,' said Grienberger impassively.

‘Then, Father Grienberger, you must be mistaken. They must be atmospheric phenomena. Change is possible only beneath the Moon's sphere, where the perfect ether is corrupted by human sin and
wickedness
.'

‘We can find no error in Brahe's work.'

‘Pah,' spat Pippe.

Bellarmine looked at Clavius. ‘Is Tycho within our control?'

The Professor shook his head. ‘His attendance at Church has lapsed.'

‘Does the Emperor not insist that his Mathematician attends Mass? What did we do to deserve Rudolph II?' Bellarmine rolled his eyes.

‘There is one hope,' said Clavius, looking again at Grienberger.

‘Through their correspondence, Hewart and Kepler have become friends. The Chancellor now sees himself as something of a patron; so much so that Kepler sends all his letters through Hewart's personal courier,' said Grienberger.

‘We could read them while they are
en route
,' cut in Pippe. ‘A Lutheran writing to Catholics is surely a matter for the Inquisition.'

Bellarmine nodded. ‘It would seem a prudent move.'

Clavius straightened his posture. ‘Father Bellarmine, I know modesty would forbid you from acknowledging this, but you are the Church's foremost theologian; you are also a Jesuit.' The old eyes flicked to Pippe and back. ‘You may wish to clarify your thinking in this matter. If a change to Aristotelian ideas is necessary, we cannot be caught unprepared – especially if it comes from a Lutheran camp. We must know if the Scriptures contain any room for reinterpretation.'

Bellarmine met Clavius's eyes. There was something fearful in them. ‘I will ponder as you ask but do not be falsely hopeful. The Scriptures are quite clear in this regard: the Earth is at rest in the centre of the Universe.'

There was little free time in Tycho's household. Kepler was
permanently
exhausted and his giddy spells were on the increase, too. In
addition
to the nightly observing sessions, there were meetings to attend, maintenance to perform and, of course, meals to endure. Meanwhile, the Mars data lay unworked like a gemstone waiting to be cut. The need to be with the figures crowded his thoughts. Every day, every meaningless chore around the household served only to increase the craving within him. And all the time, Tycho went about with his usual bombast, convinced that the act of observation was the performance, when Kepler knew it just marked the arrival of the players. The music would only come once the observations had been fashioned into a score.

Kepler skipped breakfast one morning to set down his terms of work. It was the only way forwards. Once Tycho had agreed, then progress with the data could be made. He had completed the first draft and was just dusting it with blotting powder when Longomontanus returned from the dining hall.

‘I have a favour to ask,' said Kepler, swivelling from the small desk next to his cot. ‘Will you negotiate on my behalf with Tycho?'

The senior assistant looked bemused.

Kepler offered the sheet. ‘I have written out my requirements but I would ask that you not show the actual document to Tycho, simply discuss its contents with him.'

Longomontanus hesitated but took the piece of paper. He scanned it, sucking air through his teeth. ‘No one has ever demanded so much before.'

‘Because Tycho has never needed anyone as badly before.'

‘I cannot represent you. You need to find another negotiator.'

‘But who else can I trust?'

Longomontanus placed the piece of paper onto Kepler's desk. ‘It would be better for me if you forgot that you showed me your demands. I want no part of this negotiation.'

Kepler sighed. ‘Very well, I will solve Mars and then approach Tycho myself.'

That night, Kepler found it impossible to concentrate on the
observations
. No matter how hard the stars called for his attention, the Mars data sang more loudly. The only blessing about being on the roof was that the cold air soothed his fever, parting the fog in his mind.

A quick glance around the sky told him that his illness was probably far from over. Jupiter was shining high in the sky, raining down its
influence
, clawing at his liver and throwing his humours out of balance. Sitting firmly among the stars of Aries, the alignment conspired to attack his thinking. Worst of all it could last months; Jupiter would continue to creep across the sky. Only with the rise of Leo in the spring, might he hope for some strength to return.

Camomile – he must find camomile in the kitchen, and sage too. Yes, cooling camomile and purifying sage. A poultice about his
forehead
should balance him enough to work. Better still, a sage balsam rubbed into his torso.

It occurred to him that once he had achieved his goal and described the motion of the planets, the next step would be to understand why they moved and then how their influence propagated across space. If he could understand that, perhaps it would be possible to build a shield to bounce the celestial forces back into space – though only the ruinous ones, of course. Perhaps roofs could be made in this way and people could wear protective hats to banish illness …

Longomontanus called out an observation from the other side of the sextant, startling Kepler, who asked for it to be repeated and then fought the numbing ache in his fingers to record the figures. But the act felt meaningless, like collecting raindrops instead of swimming in the ocean. Any literate person could do this work, but only he could solve the shape of the Martian orbit.

In his head, he tried juggling the planet's observations. He had been shown so few that he had memorised them easily, despite the fever.
Now, he could rearrange them at will and search for their hidden meaning.

‘Johannes, I'm talking to you,' Longomontanus hissed. The
assistants
never raised their voices on the roof. It was as if they feared alerting the stars to their vigil. ‘Declination: thirty-four degrees, twenty-five arcminutes.'

‘It's no good,' Kepler said, letting his arm fall to his side, all pretence of standing with the notebook at the ready forgotten. ‘When did an architect ever lay the stones himself?'

Longomontanus unbent himself from the instrument and pressed his hands into the small of his back. ‘You misunderstand. In Tycho's castle we are cogs, not wheels.'

‘I'm sorry. I have to go and work.' He did not wait for an answer but thrust the notebook at his companion and dodged the other
instruments
and assistants on his way to the stairway.

A few sparse torches lit the corridor beneath. As Kepler threaded his way from one pool of shivering brightness to the next, he heard the sound of hushed voices, some way ahead. The urgency of their tone halted him, and he sank into the shadows.

It was Tengnagel and Elisabeth, Tycho's eldest daughter. They were whispering and pawing each other. Tengnagel seized her by the arm and drew her close, pressing his mouth against hers.

Caught between disgust and fascination, Kepler watched the urgent fumbling of their hands upon each other. As their kissing reached its crescendo, she pushed him away and giggled breathlessly before slipping through a doorway. Kepler knew that he should move before he was discovered. Inadvertently his feet shuffled on the gritty stone.

Tengnagel was on the verge of following Elisabeth inside when the noise caught his attention. ‘Who's there?'

Kepler flattened himself against the dark wall.

Tengnagel challenged again, this time drawing a small sword.

At the sight of the blade, Kepler stepped into the orange light and locked eyes with the younger man. Wordlessly Tengnagel sheathed his sword, reached for Elisabeth's door and pulled it shut. Turning on his heels, he marched away, tossing his hair.

Once safely inside his room, Kepler wrote out the memorised
observations
of Mars. Individually each coordinate held a glimmer of meaning; taken together they were loaded with significance.

They were the coordinates of Mars for the planet's last ten
oppositions
. During an opposition – according to Copernicus – Earth caught up with Mars and lapped it like an Olympian on an inside track. When this happened, every 780 days, Mars appeared to backtrack in the sky before resuming its onward motion.

Kepler toyed with the numbers, deciding on the best way to attack them tonight. At opposition Earth and Mars were at their closest, with the Sun banished to the opposite side of the sky. So, these figures provided excellent starting points for his analysis. Yet, without the observations in between, all he really possessed were a few guard towers but no walls from which to build a citadel. Nonetheless, it was a start.

Longomontanus arrived as the sky began to blush with the dawn. His movements were laboured, more befitting a man of twice his age. ‘Progress?' he asked flatly.

‘Some,' said Kepler. ‘I need a full set of observations, from one
opposition
to another.'

Longomontanus rolled his eyes. ‘How many times must I say this? I can show you only what the Master has allowed. Now I must sleep.' He closed the wooden shutters over the window, encasing the apartment in gloom, and then dropped to his bed where he was soon breathing evenly.

Kepler retreated to his own bed, frustrated and annoyed. It set the pattern for the rest of the week.