Alchemy, page 14
‘Precisely. And speaking of diplomacy,’ San Clemente added, ‘you’re acquainted with my colleague. In fact, I believe you were once brothers in Christ.’
He turned his head expectantly as a figure in a long black robe stepped out of the shadows from behind a pillar – he always did like to indulge a taste for the theatrical – and our eyes met. It was almost twenty years since I had last seen him, and the passage of time had evidently not diminished his hatred for me. Fra Agostino da Montalcino, former head of the Dominican order in Rome, scourge of heretics, enemy of free thought and scientific enquiry. He had never forgiven me for ridiculing him in a debate at my convent in Naples when I was a hot-headed youth of twenty; I believe he considered it his divinely appointed mission to bring me down, one way or another. He was the very last person I would have wished to run into in a city where – as Rabbi Loew had shrewdly reminded me – I had no powerful patron for protection.
Montalcino continued to scrutinise me. The years had not been kind to him; he was heavy-set, but his excess weight seemed to drag towards the earth now, his jowls and the pouches beneath his eyes sagging, giving him the air of a melancholy mastiff. He wore his habit too tight at the collar, so that he appeared to be in permanent discomfort, continually tugging to loosen it with one finger, and the mole on his cheek, repellent and fascinating in equal measure, still bristled with coarse hairs, though these were white now, while the hair on his head had turned iron-grey. He must be approaching sixty, and he looked as if he carried his advancing age like a cumbersome burden.
‘Frater,’ I said, addressing him by the old title we had used to one another as Dominicans. I dipped my head in a reluctant show of respect that I knew he would take for mockery.
‘No longer your brother, in point of fact, Bruno,’ he said. ‘You abandoned the order, remember?’
‘That can’t have surprised you. I’d have thought the Dominicans were glad to be rid of me.’
‘What surprises me is that you have managed to escape the flames so far.’ He compressed his lips into a thin line. ‘I have read your books, you know. It was among the more distasteful of my duties as inquisitor to compose reports on heretical texts.’
‘I’m flattered. I can write a dedication in them if you’d like?’
‘Only in England could you publish such monstrous heresies and not face retribution. But I hear the English didn’t want to keep you.’ He stroked the mole on his cheek with the tip of a stubby finger. ‘Too much a Catholic for Elizabeth’s more puritanical advisers, am I right? And neither did the French – too much a heretic for Catherine de Medici.’ He shook his head with affected regret, as if at a wayward child who had been warned where his follies would lead. ‘It seems that you are too much and not enough all at once, Bruno. A man who belongs nowhere.’
That stung – a touch straight to my most vulnerable flank – but I would not let him see that he had scored a hit. I was grateful that he had spoken in Italian so that Besler could not understand.
‘I live in Wittenberg now,’ I said, standing straighter. ‘I teach philosophy at the university.’
‘Oh, I know. But I hear there are murmurs against you even there,’ Montalcino said in his low insinuating voice that always felt like being caressed by a spider. ‘They say you seek to establish a secret sect of believers in your own ungodly philosophy of an infinite universe and a religion that would make no distinction between Catholic and Protestant, Jew and Turk. And you have no shortage of gullible youths such as this one eager to spread your lies.’
Dio mio, he had been thorough in his research; that should not have shocked me. It was true that the theories put forward in my books had given rise to concerns about my influence on the students; the rest was malicious rumour. It was almost a compliment to learn that Montalcino had gone to such lengths to keep a watchful eye on me.
‘I am not responsible for what stupid people say about matters they do not understand,’ I said as nonchalantly as I could manage. ‘For my part, I did not expect to find you turned envoy, Brother. I always thought you had found your true calling with the Holy Office. Surely diplomacy is a little tame for your tastes?’
‘Two sides of the same coin, Bruno.’ His black eyes glittered. ‘Both diplomacy and the regrettable business of correcting misguided beliefs are, in the end, concerned with the art of persuasion, are they not? With a greater or lesser degree of subtlety.’
I was the first to look away. ‘Well. I don’t suppose you brought me here to discuss my books. What is it you want?’
‘We want to know why you have come to Prague.’ San Clemente had been observing our exchange with amusement, but now he spoke crisply, as if he had indulged our sparring long enough.
‘I am here at the invitation of my friend John Dee,’ I said.
‘Why now?’
‘It is the first opportunity I have had to take time away from my work at the university.’ Could he know that Walsingham had sent me? Surely not. I kept my expression clear.
‘Then where is Dee?’
‘That’s a good question. I arrived yesterday afternoon, as I’m sure you know, to find him long gone. So your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps better.’
‘He is suspected of theft and murder,’ Montalcino said dispassionately. ‘That makes him a fugitive from justice. So if you know his whereabouts, you are guilty of assisting him.’
‘If I knew his whereabouts, I would have gone to find him, and as you have clearly had me followed since I arrived in Prague, you would have us both by now. What evidence do you have that John had anything to do with this murder?’
‘The dead man accused your friend of theft shortly before he vanished,’ San Clemente cut in.
‘A desperate man may say anything for a few escudos,’ I said pointedly. ‘Besides, as I understand it, three weeks passed between John’s disappearance and the killing of Bartos, during which time John has not been seen in the city.’
‘With his contacts, he could easily have slipped through the gates unnoticed to commit the crime.’
‘Or he could have had a proxy,’ San Clemente suggested. ‘Someone to carry out the deed at his instruction.’
‘Or something,’ Montalcino said darkly.
At this I laughed. ‘A Golem, you mean? Come now, Fra Agostino, you are not a small boy to be frightened by nursery tales. Whoever killed the alchemist was as much flesh and blood as I am. Or even you.’
‘And yet, that is not what they are saying in the Old Town Square,’ he murmured. ‘What did the old Jew tell you this morning?’
‘If you mean Rabbi Loew, he was no help,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t know where John is either.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ San Clemente said. ‘They are practised at spiriting people away under cover of darkness. It is their way.’
‘That Jew knows where Dee is,’ Montalcino agreed. ‘And I think he told you.’
‘He told me nothing,’ I insisted, but I remembered my conviction that Rabbi Loew had been keeping something back. I wondered if they could be right, and if he knew what had happened to Dee, or even assisted in hiding him.
‘We could of course encourage you to tell us what you know,’ Montalcino said quietly, in Italian, casually examining his nails. A cold sensation washed over me, leaving my fingers numb.
‘The Holy Office has no licence here,’ I said, keeping my voice firm and my back straight; he wanted me cowed, and I would not give him that. He met my look with a small, private smile, conveying a horrible kind of intimacy. I knew he would not care about legitimacy; all he needed was for those two Spanish thugs to catch me off-guard one night and carry me to some quiet out-of-the-way place where he could practise all the persuasive tricks of his trade. ‘I am a guest of the Emperor,’ I added.
‘That’s not strictly true, is it?’ San Clemente replied. ‘You’ve caught his attention, granted, but please do not delude yourself that you have any special standing at court. If you were to disappear the way John Dee has, I don’t imagine Rudolf would put himself out to find you. And your English friends are a long way away – not that I imagine they would trouble themselves overmuch either, since you are not Her Majesty’s subject, however useful you make yourself.’
I looked from the Spaniard to the nuncio and folded my arms; I had had enough of their games, and I could see that Besler was growing scared, though I doubted he had been able to follow the detail of the conversation. ‘You can threaten me all you want, Ambassador, but I am not clear what you hope to gain. I can’t tell you where John is, and if you believe that Rabbi Loew knows, why don’t you ask him yourselves? We are leaving.’
I saw them exchange a glance, and guessed that pressuring the most senior Jewish leader in the city was a line even they dared not cross.
‘We would not dream of bothering the good rabbi,’ San Clemente said smoothly. ‘And I have made no threats, Dr Bruno – I have simply pointed out the truth of your situation. But it occurs to me – there is something you can do for us that would help to keep things harmonious during your stay in the city.’
Now we come to it, I thought. ‘What is it you want?’
‘You’ve been asking questions about the alchemist’s murder,’ he said.
‘If you’re going to tell me to stop, that does rather imply that you have a reason for keeping the truth hidden.’
‘On the contrary,’ Montalcino said. ‘We want you to find out.’
‘What?’ I stared at him, wondering if I had misheard.
‘Presumably your aim is to clear John Dee’s name so that he can return to court?’
‘Yes, but—’ I glanced again at the Spaniard, confused. ‘I would not have thought you shared that ambition?’
‘We simply wish to know one way or another,’ San Clemente said.
‘Then – what are you saying – you don’t believe John killed Bartos?’ My mind was scrambling to catch up; if Rabbi Loew was right and the Catholic faction had been using Bartos in some kind of plot, either to defame or to assassinate the Emperor, surely it was in their interest that the blame for his death should fall squarely on Dee, who was already their enemy and was not here to speak in his own defence.
‘I find it the most likely explanation,’ San Clemente said. ‘The two were well-known rivals. But if you should uncover anything that suggests someone other than John Dee was responsible, we would like that information before you pass it to anyone else.’
‘So why don’t you go out and look for it?’ I asked. ‘You clearly have a city full of informants.’
He gave me a tight smile. ‘Oh, you may be sure we are making our own enquiries. But we would like to be kept abreast of anything you find out.’
‘And if I refuse, on the grounds that I don’t trust you?’
Montalcino let his appraising gaze fall on Besler. ‘Then this young man’s family would have good reason to rue the day he fell under your spell.’
‘What will you do – hang him off the Stone Bridge too?’ I tried to maintain a note of defiance, but I felt my gut clench; I knew Montalcino well enough to know he was capable of carrying out a threat purely in order not to lose face.
He lifted one shoulder in a dismissive gesture. ‘You can gamble with your own reputation and safety, Bruno, you have always found some dubious childish thrill in doing that. But to risk the safety of others – that strikes me as extreme selfishness.’
Besler was looking at me in alarm; Montalcino had spoken Italian so I doubted the boy had understood the nature of the threat, but he was no fool – he could see the nuncio was talking about him.
I gritted my teeth and battled to control my anger that even here, in the most tolerant court in Europe, the emissaries of Rome and Spain should feel so confident of their power that it was clear I had no choice but to do their bidding, else put Besler’s life in danger. I was considering how I might make a suitably ambiguous reply when we all started at the metallic clang of the gate and the sound of quick footsteps on the staircase.
Ottavio Strada stepped into the circle of light from the candles. He took in the little tableau before him and his expression briefly darkened as he looked from the ambassador to the nuncio, before he assumed a courtier’s smile.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, addressing us in German. ‘Here you are. I had been growing concerned – the messenger I sent for Doctor Bruno returned almost an hour ago with assurances that he was on his way, so I began to fear that something had happen to divert him.’ He turned to me. ‘Fortunately, I learned from the guards on the gate that you had in fact arrived and mistakenly been shown to the basilica of St George.’ He glanced at San Clemente as he said this, but the Spaniard only returned his smile with equal insincerity.
‘Forgive us, Signor Strada – Fra Agostino could not pass up the opportunity to renew acquaintance with his old colleague from the Dominican order, and for myself, I have heard so much about Dr Bruno that I insisted on meeting him in person. I hope we have not delayed whatever business you have with him.’
‘Well,’ Strada said, steepling his fingers, ‘we are all pressed for time, and I see these gentlemen have not been offered any refreshment, so if you have finished here …?’
‘I think we have finished, for now,’ Montalcino said, stepping forward to take me by the shoulders and plant a kiss on both cheeks; I had to fight not to recoil. ‘It is indeed a marvellous thing to find you so unchanged, Brother,’ he said with a fulsome smile. ‘Reassuring, in a way.’
‘Likewise,’ I managed, nodding to San Clemente as Strada ushered me and Besler to the stairs. I did not miss the warning glance he sent the two Catholics; it was a look that said, I’m watching you.
TEN
‘They bribed one of the guards on the gate to inform them if you arrived,’ Strada told me as he led us back through the courtyards to the Emperor’s private apartments. I could hear the anger straining his voice. ‘It’s not unusual – information is currency here and most of the watchmen are for sale. I’ve reported the man to his commander, but I doubt anything will come of it. What did those two want with you?’
I hesitated before deciding to leave the complexities of the murder aside; I was still trying to understand the Catholics’ position. ‘Fra Agostino da Montalcino has hated me for the best part of twenty years. I think he just wanted the chance to remind me that he still does. He once tried to make me condemn myself as a heretic in an audience with the Pope. I only narrowly talked my way out of it.’
Strada laughed. ‘That sounds like a story my father would enjoy hearing. And what do you make of San Clemente?’
I shrugged. ‘A career diplomat, I assume. I have met the type before. Charming, clever – well-born, no doubt. Ruthless too, I imagine.’
‘Extremely. And unlike many career diplomats, a man of action as well as words. He’s a decorated soldier – he fought at the Battle of Lepanto in his youth. Be careful of those two, Bruno – they are dangerous men singly, and even more so when they work together.’
‘Why so?’
He lowered his voice and leaned closer, so that his shoulder touched mine as we walked. ‘Because they are both failing in their missions. Montalcino has been in post less than a year, but he is the latest in a line of papal nuncios who cannot do the job they have been sent to do, which is to impose the will of Rome on the Emperor. Rudolf is his own man, and increasingly disinclined to obedience. He no longer takes the sacraments, and when he makes his confession now, he instructs his confessor to leave out the phrase about auctoritate apostolica.’
I whistled softly. ‘I imagine that would not sit well with the Pope.’
‘As for San Clemente,’ Strada continued, ‘his task – which has been his sole focus from the beginning of his embassy – is to secure the marriage between the Emperor and his cousin the Infanta Isabella, Philip of Spain’s daughter. But Rudolf prevaricates and dithers, he promises and reneges, and the matter has stretched out over years, with no official betrothal as yet. Philip is on the point of losing patience altogether, and it will mean the end of San Clemente’s career if he is recalled without achieving his prize. So you see why they are both hostile to anyone who might distract the Emperor from his religious and dynastic obligations.’
‘It sounds as if there is not much love lost between you.’
‘Well, you must know,’ he said, holding open a door into the wing I had visited last night, ‘there has always been a degree of resentment about my family’s status at court, and the extent of our influence.’ He could not disguise a swell of pride as he said this. He set off up a staircase lined with tapestries as Besler and I followed.
‘How so?’ I asked. ‘Are the Stradas not Catholics? Or – what is your religion, then?’
He gave me a sidelong glance and smiled. ‘Pragmatism, Dr Bruno. You understand that, I think? We are Catholic by baptism, of course, but we tailor our faith to the Emperor’s. We do not share the zeal of a man like Montalcino, for instance. I could not do the work I do in the library if I were concerned about knowledge corrupting my immortal soul, and I am happy to converse with men of all religions and none. But it is not simply a matter of creed.’
‘No?’ We reached the top of the stairs and progressed along a carpeted corridor towards another set of painted doors. It occurred to me that in the shock of confronting Montalcino and his threats, I had not yet asked Ottavio why he had sent for me.
‘My sister, Katherina,’ he said with a confidential air. ‘She is the Emperor’s preferred companion, and has been for seven years now. That breeds envy and ill-will in some quarters, as you can imagine.’
‘Ah. I had heard Rudolf was fickle in his affections?’
Strada sighed. ‘He can be easily distracted. But Katherina is the one he always returns to. I do honestly believe he loves her, in his way. Witness how he will not marry, though most of the eligible princesses of Europe have been offered at one time or another. San Clemente chooses to see my sister as the obstacle to King Philip’s marriage plans – rather than acknowledge the bald truth, which is that Rudolf has no love for Spain and no wish to tie himself more closely to her crown.’
