The Master's Apprentice, page 48
part #1 of Faust Series
“I haven’t found my luck yet,” Johann replied bitterly. “Have you ever heard of the expression born on the day of the prophet? Apparently it has something to do with my birth.”
“No, I’m sorry.” Agrippa shook his head. “But I think it’s likely that the stars have more to say about your birth than we simple humans can see with our bare eyes.” When Johann gave him a quizzical look, Agrippa continued. “I am convinced that there are many more stars out there. Some shine very weakly, as if they were far away. I’ve always wondered, What lies beyond?”
“Ptolemy wrote that the Earth was surrounded by eight spheres,” replied Johann. “And beyond those is nothing.”
“And you’re content with that explanation?” Agrippa smiled. “You disappoint me, Faustus. Don’t you want to find out what lies beyond the eighth sphere?”
“Beyond the eighth sphere.” Johann gazed into the distance. “Someone else said those words to me once.”
“That someone must have been a wise man.” Agrippa emptied his cup in one gulp and refilled both their cups with wine. “But now let us speak of more worldly things. I’ve got a suggestion for you, Doctor Faustus. You tell me about yourself, and I tell you about the world behind the eighth sphere. If only every second story about you is true, we are going to have a few merry and stimulating weeks.”
Agrippa was right. The following weeks were the most stimulating Johann had ever experienced.
Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa of Nettesheim, famous Cologne scholar, was the first person Johann had ever considered an equal. Their conversations were like duels, fought not with the sword but with wit and sharp tongues. The two men came from very different backgrounds. Agrippa was an offspring of Cologne nobility, and his father had been a diplomat in the service of the House of Hapsburg. Agrippa had grown up as a fortunate child, loved by his parents, surrounded by books, and boasting many talents. Johann, on the other hand, was a bastard who’d had to work hard for everything in his life, a juggler, and a fraud.
Even though Agrippa probably knew that most of the stories about Faust weren’t true, he was happily entertained by them. A small adventure quickly turned into a scientific discourse, and the two men often sat up late into the night.
“My students told me you can make thunder and lightning,” said Agrippa with a smile one evening in the stove room. “So? Can you?”
Johann shrugged. “Let’s say I possess enough gunpowder to make the heavens rumble—for the simple folk, at least. The scope of this devilish mixture of sulfur, coal, and saltpeter is truly astonishing. I fear we’re far from finished developing and refining this powder, however.”
“And how is the real thunder in the sky created?” asked Agrippa, sipping his wine. “In his Meteorologica, Aristotle claims that it is the wind colliding with the clouds. What do you think?”
“Do you know Albertus Magnus’s rainbow experiment?” replied Johann after some consideration. “An octagonal crystal that is partly placed into the sunlight projects the colors of the rainbow against a wall. Maybe it’s a similar story with thunder. Thunder might be created by something we can’t see. It is just the consequence, not the cause.”
Agrippa rocked his head from side to side. “An interesting thought, dear colleague. I might use it in one of my lectures.”
Agrippa mostly spent the mornings at the university, where the students flocked to his lectures to hear the scholar’s thoughts, some finding them heretical while others believed they were forward thinking. Johann used the time to browse Agrippa’s home library until delicious cooking smells called him to the kitchen. He took lunch with Agrippa’s sister and Karl. Satan stayed in the garden by the wagon.
Thus the weeks passed, and soon it was October. The temperatures turned cooler, and rain lashed through the lanes of Cologne. Every now and then Johann still thought he was being watched, but the urge to learn more about the stars on his day of birth and about whatever lay beyond the eighth sphere was so strong that he forgot everything else around him. He and Karl slept at the Golden Crown Inn, one of the city’s best taverns. Johann slept deeply and without dreams—better than he had in years. The intellectual exchange with Agrippa made him feel as satisfied as a freshly fed baby. He barely ever thought of Margarethe during that time.
They didn’t give any shows with the laterna magica for fear of being accused of heresy. Johann wasn’t a particularly popular man in the streets of Cologne; people gossiped about the sorcerer at the house of the controversial scholar, and a few times dung was thrown at him. But he didn’t deny himself the pleasure of demonstrating the laterna in the stove room for Agrippa.
“Truly amazing,” said his host once the last image—the white woman—had faded and Johann had lit the candles in the room again. “Imagine the possibilities if those images could move like real people.”
“And speak,” said Johann with a smile. “Who knows—perhaps that day will come, even if you or I won’t be there to see it.”
Johann gradually learned more about Agrippa’s thoughts on the stars. The scholar thought it was possible that there were other suns in the universe—other worlds, even. The universe might be endlessly great, and planet Earth nothing but a speck of dust.
“Consider the comets,” Agrippa said to Johann one day. “Where do they come from? From a distant world behind the eighth sphere? How long did it take them to travel here? Since the times of Aristotle people have believed comets are atmospheric evaporations or harbingers of bad news of future events. But I believe they come from much farther away—farther even than the wise astronomer Johannes Müller suspected, but at least he defined them as independent celestial bodies.” Agrippa sighed. “It is such a pity our eyes can’t see what’s beyond the eighth sphere.” He gestured at the laterna magica in a corner of the room. “It’s a pretty toy, your apparatus. But I wonder if it could also be used differently. Those lenses you used . . .” He hesitated.
“What about them?”
Agrippa picked up the frameless eye glasses he wore occasionally and studied them pensively. “If we look through lenses, we see better. We’ve known that since the times of Roger Bacon. But what if we could also better see what’s in the heavens? If we could see farther, we might understand what makes your birth so special. You speak of a curse—why?”
Johann hesitated.
“Have you ever heard of a Gilles de Rais?” he asked eventually.
Agrippa touched his nose, thinking. Johann thought for the briefest moment he saw a flicker in the scholar’s eyes. “I’m afraid I haven’t,” he replied. “Should I have?”
Johann watched Agrippa closely, but the man’s expression remained neutral. If he was lying, he was very good at it.
“It’s not important. Please excuse the question.” Johann gave a shrug. “Concerning the curse . . . it is as if someone were giving me all the wisdom, all the knowledge in the world, while at the same time placing obstacles in my way. Terrible things have happened all my life, but I was always told that I was blessed with luck. Born on the day of the prophet—how does that fit together with all the awful things that have happened to me? I finally want to know who I am. Do you understand? Only then will my searching come to an end.”
“Who you are?” Agrippa couldn’t hold back a smile. “Since when do people want to know who they are? An unusual question, don’t you think? Somewhat . . . new.” He laughed. “But then again, you are an unusual person, Doctor Faustus—almost like a new specimen of our kind.”
Johann was so engrossed in his discussions with Agrippa that he sometimes forgot that he had an assistant. Karl did as he pleased in Cologne, and aside from mealtimes, they didn’t see each other. Johann didn’t look after Karl as he had pledged that he would after they’d first met. His thirst for knowledge was stronger than their friendship.
And so fate—or the curse Johann had spoken about—took its course once again.
Karl heard the sounds of music, laughter, and shattering glass as he staggered out of the tavern down by the Rhine and turned his face into the autumn rain. The Black Whale was a disreputable hole, but nevertheless it was frequented by gentlemen of the upper classes. They usually sat in the back, wearing wide-brimmed hats and plain coats to hide their expensive clothing. It wasn’t long before a handsome young lad would take a seat beside one such gentleman, and a while later the pair would disappear up a narrow set of stairs.
Karl, too, had been upstairs a few times.
There were days when he cursed himself for what he was doing. Why had God punished him with this vice? He knew it was a cardinal sin punishable with death by fire, but his flesh was weak. Why couldn’t he simply love girls like other young men did? It drove him crazy. If what he was doing was a sin, then why had God made him this way? Was it a test, just like the Lord had tested Job? Karl was too afraid even to confess his sins at church now—he feared the priest would disregard the seal of confession. Instead Karl launched himself from one amorous adventure to the next, drowning his guilty conscience with wine and schnapps at the Black Whale.
Suddenly Karl felt nauseated, and he staggered toward the Rhine as quickly as he could, dropped to his knees, and vomited. The lights of the taverns along the port were reflected in the water; they were low, huddled buildings near the docks, warehouses, and fish markets; they lured patrons with whores and other guilty pleasures. Karl retched. If only he could rid himself of his urge this way! Just spew it out like those possessed by the devil sometimes spewed out rusty nails and then they were cured.
For him, it seemed, there was no cure.
He was bound for hell.
What made it all the worse for him was the fact that he loved a man who was unattainable. It had started slowly and stealthily. In the beginning it was merely admiration and respect Karl had felt toward the doctor, but now it was respect coupled with true affection and—Karl quivered with embarrassment—uncouth thoughts. Doctor Faustus was a dozen years older than him, but he was still a good-looking man with soft raven-black hair and a dark, mysterious gaze. Karl thought it was mainly the eyes that attracted him so—gazing at them was like looking into two deep ponds. And he couldn’t figure out the mystery that lay at their bottom, no matter how hard he tried.
Karl knew he could never reveal his feelings. The way the doctor ignored him here in Cologne pained him. Yes, they took lunch together and saw each other at the Golden Crown Inn at nights, but Faust was never really with him. His mind was always with that arrogant Agrippa, whose company the doctor found much more stimulating than a conversation with his ignorant assistant. Karl’s frustration had edged him from one liaison into the next, even though he hadn’t felt good about it. His latest lover in particular seemed a little creepy. He was a pretty lad with hair just as black as the doctor’s. But his eyes had something calculating—nasty, even. A few times when they were lying next to each other at night, Karl had sensed the boy’s eyes on him. His looks burned like glowing pieces of coal. But as soon as Karl had opened his own eyes, the boy had only smiled at him and covered him in kisses. Just now Karl had been with him again, but this time he’d felt too uncomfortable and had run outside.
Still drunk, Karl got to his feet and wiped his mouth, a bitter flavor on his tongue. He needed this to end! He would go to the doctor and ask to be released. Faust would give him back his letters, and Karl would move on and try to forget the doctor. It would be the best for everyone.
With unsteady steps, Karl walked along the Rhine while rain fell from the sky like cold tears. He had bribed the guards to leave the small gate by the Franken Tower unlocked. The guards made good money with men like him. Only a few years ago it was revealed that more than two hundred respected citizens of Cologne were engaging in sodomy. The whole affair had been swept under the carpet, and until this day honest husbands sneaked through the gate down to the houses of ill repute by the Rhine. Karl looked up at the tower that served as a jail and reminded him of what was in store for him should he be discovered.
Gently, he pushed against the gate. It opened. As soon as he was through he noticed movement in the alcove below the tower. To his relief he realized it was just one of the guards, and the man winked at him conspiratorially. Karl was about to walk past him when the soldier suddenly blocked his way. The man’s expression darkened and he drew his sword.
“This is Wagner, the sodomite!” shouted the guard over his shoulder, and Karl saw more men move in the darkness. “Get him!”
Karl heard heavy footsteps, and then men with swords and pikes rushed toward him. The scene had a dreamlike quality to it; everything seemed to move slower than normally. Strangely, Karl felt no fear in that moment. All his senses were entirely focused on survival.
Before the soldiers reached him, he feinted to the right and then dashed past the astonished guard on the left. Even as a small boy Karl had always been one of the quickest. He raced like a hare and swerved left and right while a crossbow bolt whirred past his ear. Behind him the men yelled; Karl stumbled, caught himself, and stormed into a narrow alleyway. He knocked over a barrel, pressed on, and heard angry shouts behind him. He ran aimlessly through the maze of lanes, turning left here and right there until he came to the edge of the larger street that led from the port to the cathedral.
Panicked, gasping for breath, and with a wildly beating heart, Karl looked around. The men had gone. The rain was pouring down and made the moonless night even darker than it already was. It was unlikely that they’d find him now.
At first, a wave of relief washed through him. He had actually managed to shake off the soldiers. But then fear returned, doubly powerful. He was a wanted sodomite—torture and the stake awaited him. The memory of smoke and the smell of burning flesh returned. Karl started to tremble uncontrollably while he feverishly tried to figure out what to do next. Someone must have betrayed him. There was no other explanation for the fact that the fellow at the gate called him by his name.
And if they knew who he was, they’d also know whose assistant he was.
Exhausted and close to tears, Karl leaned against the wall of a house. All was lost! He couldn’t return to the inn. Worse still: the doctor himself was in danger of being arrested as a sodomite. Maybe that was the real reason his bribe did no good: they were looking for a reason to arrest the sorcerer and necromancer Doctor Faustus. Karl had to warn him. That was the least he could do.
Still breathing heavily, he sneaked along the dark lane toward the cathedral. The Golden Crown Inn, a freshly whitewashed half-timbered house with crown-glass windows, stood just a stone’s throw away. When Karl had a good view of the front door, he cowered in a niche between houses and piles of foul-smelling waste and waited. If he was lucky, Faust was still with Agrippa.
Rats scurried around his feet, and a night watchman walked past very closely without seeing him. After about half an hour, when Karl was soaked to the skin, a man wearing a blue-and-black cloak and a floppy hat approached the inn from the cathedral. Karl breathed a sigh of relief. It was the doctor. With Satan by his side, Faust walked with a spring in his step; Karl guessed the conversation with Agrippa had left the doctor in high spirits. Jealousy flared up in the young assistant, but only for a moment. Then he cautiously stepped out into the street and waved.
Faust took a few moments to recognize him, and even then he approached only reluctantly. When the doctor came closer to Karl, he wrinkled his nose. Satan growled and sniffed at Karl’s filthy trousers.
“What happened to you?” asked Faust gruffly. “Did you wallow in the muck?”
“Something . . . something dreadful has happened, Master,” burst out Karl. “By God, I . . . I’m so sorry.”
Faust immediately turned serious. “What is it? Speak up!”
“May heaven forgive me. I am wanted as a sodomite and I . . . I fear so are you.”
As quickly as he could, Karl told the doctor about his visit to the Black Whale, the events at the Franken Tower, and his escape. To his surprise, the doctor remained calm.
“You said they knew your name. That’s bad—very bad,” he muttered. “You’re right. We can’t go back to the inn. Nor to Agrippa if we don’t want to drag him into this. But where can we go? Where . . . ?” Faust closed his eyes and rubbed his nose.
“Maybe if I hand myself in,” whimpered Karl. “If I tell them that you have nothing to do with any of this—”
“Shut up!” barked Faust. “They will try to use it against me one way or another. I should never have—” He broke off and shook his head. “Whatever has happened, we must look ahead now. This running away must come to an end.”
“What do you mean?” Karl looked at his master expectantly. “What are you thinking?”
“Listen closely to what I tell you,” replied Faust quietly. “We’ll only get out of this if we don’t make any mistakes now.”
“Where . . . where do you want to go?” asked Karl. “The power of the Cologne Inquisition reaches far.”
The doctor nodded resolutely as if he’d just made an important decision. The rain was still beating down on them, and small waterfalls ran off Faust’s hat.
“I think I know a place where we can stay awhile,” said Faust eventually. “I haven’t been there in a long time, but it’s an ideal place to hide out for a winter—or for as long as it takes until they’ve forgotten about us again. I should have gone back there much sooner. There is something that might help to answer my questions.” His gaze turned into the distance before he spoke again.
“It is a tower.”
From a window on the second floor of the inn, a man watched as the doctor and his assistant walked away toward the hay market. He could only just make out their outlines through the windows. A liquid as red as blood gleamed in the expensive glass goblet he was holding. The man took a long sip, licked his lips, and smiled.
The end and the beginning were near.
When the doctor had sought out Heinrich Agrippa, the man had been a little concerned. He didn’t want Faustus to learn too much—not yet. Even though it most likely wouldn’t change his destiny now.
