The Astrologer

{ Chapter Fourteen }

EVERY MAN HATH BUSINESS AND DESIRE


WE HAD BEEN AWAY SOME FOUR HOURS, AND IN THAT time Cornelius and Voltemont had proved industrious. In a short span they had accomplished more useless work for the prince than ever they had labored on my business.

The smaller bed chamber at the head of the stairs was cleared of rubbish and Voltemont displayed to Christian with pride the shutters he had affixed at the windows to stop the wind. Cornelius pointed to the stove in the corner; it was alive with a warm fire. They had even built a low wooden pallet for the prince along one interior wall.

“We must yet wrap ourselves in our furs to sleep, but this should prove a worthier chamber for my lord than the kitchens below.”

“I am well pleased,” Christian said, and took their hands. “For these labors you shall both have what thanks as fits a prince’s remembrance.”

The men smiled like children and bowed to the prince. Christian released them and paced along the walls as an admiral inspects a ship of the line.

“The room is safe? It is surely warm, at least.”

“Aye, my lord,” Cornelius said. “The chimney works. I am not sanguine about the exterior walls. It would be wise, I think, to keep away from them.”

“That’s the failure of the Italian school of building,” Christian said. “Brahe should not have used Palladio as his model. What succeeds in the Mediterranean is not suited for the hardier climes of Denmark, eh Soren?”

“I cannot say, my lord.”

Christian walked to the window, opened one of the shutters, and looked out briefly before closing the shutter again.

“Cannot or would not or will not. Not to speak ill of the dead, eh?”

“My lord?”

“You will not condemn your master whilst standing in his very cranium. That is commendable.”

Christian pushed against the wall beside the window, leaning against it with all his weight.

“One can discuss any man, or that man’s home, with a free tongue,” he said in a sharp tone. “As long as he makes not his home in that good man’s head. It would be unseemly to sit beneath a friend’s crown and speak the truth, eh, gentlemen?”

“My lord, I know not what you mean,” I said. “And it is unsafe to so beleaguer the walls, my lord. Do stand away, prithee.”

“You are afraid one of Brahe’s bricks will crown me?”

“You would surely regret such a coronation, my lord. I beg you, stand away from the wall.”

Christian shrugged and began to beat against the wall with his right fist. Cornelius and Voltemont exchanged a look of alarm and stepped over to the prince.

“My lord,” Voltemont said. “To speak of heads, my lord.”

“Aye?”

Christian did not look at Voltemont. He continued to pound the wall.

“My lord, I wonder if you wish to visit the surgeon.”

“The surgeon?”

“My lord,” Cornelius said. “Will you not rest elsewhere than on the wall? It may fall in, my lord. It is not safe.”

“Safe? Nothing is safe.”

Cornelius and Voltemont reached out to take Christian’s arms. The prince slipped between the men and came to where I stood. He leaned close to me and spoke in a low voice.

“Who are they, Soren?”

“My lord?”

“Those men.” He nodded toward the window, where Voltemont was inspecting the wall and Cornelius was watching Christian. “Who are they?”

“My lord,” I whispered. “That is Voltemont and Cornelius. You know them.”

Christian snatched at the collar of my cloak and pulled our faces even closer.

“Not those men, of course.” He blinked rapidly and shook my cloak. “The other men.”

“My lord, there are no other men here.” I thought that perhaps Voltemont’s advice was sound, that the blow to Christian’s head caused him to wax desperate with imagination. The prince’s left eye was bloodshot, and I could not recall if it had been thus since we discovered him in the night.

“Did you send for them, Soren?”

“My lord, these are wild and whirling words you speak. There are none but the four of us in this room.”

Christian rolled his eyes like a dog with hydrophobia and shook me harder.

“Not us,” he said. “I dare say I worry the cold affects your brain, Soren. Look out the window, sirrah. There are three men on horseback coming from the north. Who are they?”

“Three men? Why, I know not.”

Christian took his hand from me and I went over to the window and opened the shutter. Below us was a trio of riders on coal black mounts, wearing the black and yellow of Swiss mercenaries. I did not know what they were doing at Uraniborg. Perhaps Marcellus had sent them to fetch me back to Kronberg, though it seemed doubtful he would dispatch three lancers for such a purpose.

“They are your father’s Swiss guard,” I said. “I know not why they have come.”

Christian slipped into a corner of the room and looked up at the shadows over his head.

“I doubt it is no other reason than your mission,” he said. “Go and speak with them.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“And take these two with you.”

“My lord,” Cornelius said. “We think it best we remain here, at your service.”

“You do me no good service when you disobey me,” Christian said. “It is writ down in your duty, is it not, to leap or stand as I declare? Am I not crown prince of Denmark? Is not your king my own father?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Then go with Soren. You are all honorable men. I will remain here. Go.”

We left the prince sitting on his pallet and walked out to meet the Swiss in the yard. It was becoming late in the afternoon. A few flakes fell here and there, but the storm was over. The sun shone through a break in the clouds behind Uraniborg and Tycho’s ruined manor cast a cold blue shadow over us. We stood shivering in the deep shade as the riders dismounted and walked toward us.

Two of the Swiss I did not know, but they wore captain’s insignia. The third man was General Bernardo. He stood half a head taller than his captains and a raised white scar ran from his right eyebrow down his cheek to disappear into the short beard he wore. I knew who Bernardo was, but he and I had never spoken together.

Cornelius and Voltemont wrapped themselves in their cloaks, stamped their feet and rubbed their arms for warmth. The Swiss captains swaggered up and stood close, their hands upon the hilts of their swords. They looked not at me but at my Danish assistants and at the building behind us. Bernardo came so near to me that my breath fogged his breastplate. I took a step back.

“How do you, master astrologer,” he said.

“Well, General Bernardo. I did not expect a visit from the chief of the king’s army.”

“Nay?” Bernardo’s voice was hard and nasal and I did not like the sound of it. “The prince runs to hide on Hven and you are surprised when his father sends men to come find him?”

“What do you mean, the prince hides on Hven?”

Bernardo took me by the arm, his fingers digging into my bicep. He pulled me toward him.

“Walk with me,” he said. He dragged me from the shadows out into the bright snowy field away from the house and hissed into my ear.

“I know Christian is within the house.”

“He is,” I said. “I thought it was no secret. So he told us, at least.” I repeated to Bernardo the tale Christian had given of his valor at Copenhagen and his subsequent visitation to the island. Bernardo gave out a short barking laugh, but he did not smile.

“That is an interesting report,” he said. “How much of it do you believe?”

“I am not certain of any of it.”

“Good, for the prince has told you many lies, astrologer. It is true that we met Jaaperson on the road north of Copenhagen, where our forces fell to it and there was blood enough for any brave man. A good day for all, but that young Christian panicked at the first clash of arms. He wheeled about on his horse and rode straight into a Danish knight—Sir Reynaldo, I think it was—and the prince was knocked from his mount. He lost helm, sword, and shield without once striking a blow against our enemies. Then he mounted up again and fled from the action, his angry father bellowing after. We let him ride, thinking he’d not go far. Many a young nobleman balks at his first taste of organized murder but then joins the fray like a man. I was not much alarmed until after we had killed Jaaperson and his men. The prince was not found anywhere on the field. We wasted half a day searching for him. Finally a report came to us that Christian had returned to Elsinore, commanding a boat to bring him to Hven.”

“I see. And come you now to bring him back to Kronberg?”

“Only if he is wounded or wishes to return. His father is mightily vexed.”

“And his mother?”

Bernardo shook his head.

“I know not. Why would I? The queen is a woman. She will be weak where her son is concerned and her opinion is of no matter. Is the prince injured?”

“He seems well enough, but his disposition has been unpredictable. He may have shaken his brain in the fall from the horse. I do not know.”

“Ah. He may have lost his wits?”

“You sound pleased, General.”

“It would suit us were the prince addled. I know what Marcellus has said to you. We must be plain with our speech, master astrologer.”

“Very well.” I pulled free of Bernardo’s hand and rubbed my arm where he had gripped me. These Swiss had pulled me into their own conspiracy because of my clumsiness and now we were partnered, or rather I was their tool. So be it, for our shared aim was the death of the king, but I did not much like my new friends, or rather my new masters.

“The prince is a coward and may be motley-minded,” I said. “This is the sort of man you will make ruler of Denmark?”

Bernardo grinned with the left side of his face. The flesh beneath the heavy scar over his right profile seemed dead or in a paralysis.

“Young Christian will not be the sort of king who leads his own army. It plays well for us. And for you too, astrologer. Men with mixed wits lean heavily on superstition, and we will tell you what fortune to read into Christian’s skies. He will be at our mercy. This is an excellent opportunity to increase our fees. You have before you a profound lesson in the ways of commerce.”

“Indeed.”

“Will the prince return with us to Elsinore?”

“That, he must tell you. I cannot say, but if he is a coward, he may seek to hide himself here longer. I cannot predict what Christian’s plan is.”

“I shall sift him, then.”

“Shall we go inside? There is a fire in the coal stove.”

“Are you cold, astrologer?” Bernardo looked around as if only just noticing that it was winter. “We will go to your fireside in a moment. I have something to give you first.”

Bernardo took from beneath his cloak a plain dagger in a black leather sheath and handed it to me.

“When you return to Kronberg and kill Old Christian, you will use this knife instead of your clumsy potions and frozen serpents.”

“I am no soldier,” I said. “I do not know how to stab a man.”

“You will find that it is easily done,” Bernardo said. “Put the bare point to one side of the king’s spine between his shoulder blades and lean hard on the hilt. The blade will do the rest. You need merely wait until you are alone with the king.”

“I do not think—”

“Christian is a man. He deserves a man’s death. You must be a man to give him that death.”

“How the king dies can be of no matter to you, as long as he is dead.”

“It matters. Do not cross me on this, little astrologer.”

“Why do you not just kill him yourself?”

“That would not be honorable. We are knights errant of Lucerne. We are not assassins nor murderers. We are not criminals nor little men. Do not ask such a question again, astrologer, for the insult in it will make me very angry.”

Had Bernardo’s gaze been a dagger, he would have left me bleeding. I recalled the ease and amusement in Marcellus’s bearing when he had beaten me, and I took the dagger from Bernardo. I hid it in my doublet, the cold steel hilt hard against my ribs.

“Shall we go inside?” I said.

“The king gave you a commission here, did he not?” Bernardo looked over the collapsed towers and tumbling bricks of Tycho’s palace.

“Aye. There is a lit stove upstairs, in a warm room. You see the window with closed shutters?”

“Have you taken your inventory of Brahe’s toys yet?”

“Nay. There is yet work for me. And it is cold work, and slow. My notes of the explorations thus far are inside. Shall we look at them?”

“Ulfeldt asked that I inquire, that is all. I should speak to the prince now.”

At last, I thought. My fingertips and toes ached madly with cold.

“Then we go inside?”

“Nay, for look where the prince comes down to see us.”

Bernardo left me where I was and walked back to the manor. Christian was outside, in the deep blue shadows of the building, speaking with Cornelius and Voltemont. I hurried after Bernardo and caught up with him as he reached the prince.

“My lord Christian,” Bernardo said, bowing from the waist.

“My lord general,” Christian answered, inclining his head. “What truant disposition brings you to this remote place? Surely you ought to be with my father.”

“Surely we both ought, my lord. But the king your father commands I personally visit his son so that I may report, with the avouch of mine own eyes, that you are well. You acquitted yourself handsomely at Copenhagen, my lord, but we did fear some injury to you.”

Bernardo spoke as if every word was the truth. Here was no mere plain soldier, but a true politician.

“Ah, I most humbly thank you,” Christian said. “And though I did fall, I am well, good general. You may tell my father that.”

“You will not tell him yourself?”

“My business here with Soren is not concluded, but I will go to Kronberg for Christmas. You may say that to my father and my mother, good Bernardo.”

“I will, my lord. Have you any more to tell?”

Christian looked over at Cornelius and Voltemont, and then at me.

“I have a word or two, good general, to put into your ear. Will you come into the castle a moment?”

“As you command.”

“Gentlemen,” Christian said to the rest of us. “Your pardons and your patience, I beg of you. I must borrow Bernardo and the privacy of this charming ruin while you remain out here in the cold.”

He beckoned to Bernardo and led him in through the cook’s door. Cornelius and Voltemont huddled together and I walked back out into the broken sunlight. It was not much warmer than standing in the shadows and I paced about, my hands deep in my cloak, kicking at the snow. I could not guess if Christian gave Bernardo an excuse or an apology to take back to his father, or if he merely tried to gauge the level of the king’s anger. It was difficult to know. The prince’s speech since his arrival did not always keep within a natural frame. Much of what he said lacked form and I worried about the health of his wits. I was going to kill his father. If Christian then became our half-brained king, all of Denmark would serve under the puppet of foreign soldiers. How could I allow it? Yet I could not warn the prince; that would be death for me and my own friends. I must learn for myself how well the prince’s mind still hunted the trail of sanity.

He and Bernardo were gone some quarter of an hour. Cornelius and Voltemont came over to where I waited in the patchy sunshine.

“Will we return to Elsinore tomorrow?” Voltemont asked. “I do not enjoy this place. In faith, my entrails have turned to ice. I shall never be warmed through again, I say.”

“Prince Christian commands us,” I said. “It will be his word that takes us home, but he has promised to return us to Elsinore for Christmas.”

“Good. My thanks, Soren, for pressing the case with him.”

“You are welcome, Voltemont. And now here comes the prince with Bernardo.”

The Swiss had mounted their horses by the time we crossed the yard to stand by Christian. Bernardo and his captains towered over us, and for a moment I feared they would draw swords and run us down.

“Good gentlemen,” Christian said. “It will please you to know that these goodly Swiss have come to take you from me. You shall ride two-to-the-horse down to the wharf, where General Bernardo’s barge awaits.”

“My lord, we thank you,” Cornelius said.

“Aye, thanks, my prince,” Voltemont added. “I shall be glad to see Kronberg once more.”

“And gladder still to never see this island again so long as you live,” Christian said. He glanced at Bernardo and then pulled Cornelius and Voltemont closer, his hands on their collars.

“Good friends,” he whispered. “Your word, sirs, that you will say nothing to any man that I am here. So help you mercy. I should not like to see you thrown into irons, or worse.”

“My lord,” Cornelius said. “We swear!”

“Aye, we swear,” Voltemont said.

“Swear it!”

“We do swear!”

Christian let go the men’s cloaks and patted them on their shoulders.

“Excellent well,” he said. “And my thanks.”

“What of Soren?” Voltemont asked.

“Ah, Soren will remain on Hven another day with me. We are not finished here, he and I.”

“Are we not?”

“Nay, sir. We are not. Voltemont, give me your sword. I shall not go about unarmed if my two bravest soldiers are to leave me.”

Voltemont unbuckled his belt and gave it, with scabbard and rapier, to the prince. Bernardo shifted in his saddle and let his horse take a step forward. I looked up at the general and thought of a giant black vulture sitting atop a house. He called down to Christian from his perch.

“My lord, we must soon depart. Daylight wanes, and the king expects my report ere sunset.”

“Aye,” Christian said. “Gentlemen, I hold it fit that we shake hands and part, you as your business and desire shall point you—for every man hath business and desire—and for my own poor part, look you, I’ll go pray.”

Christian took Cornelius’s and Voltemont’s hands, bade them farewell, and then rushed into Uraniborg. It fell to me to help the men up onto the horses behind the Swiss captains, and I soon had mud and snow smeared over my breeches and cloak for my efforts.

The five men were soon away, disappearing over a hill on the track to the village. I hurried inside and was met by Christian just within. He shut the door behind me and took hold of the front of my doublet, keeping me at the length of his arm. Voltemont’s sword was in his other hand, unsheathed. The naked blade alarmed me a great deal.

“My lord,” I said. “What is the matter?”

“What did he want?”

“He?”

“Him.”

“Bernardo? He inquired after you, my lord.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt. What did you tell him?”

“He asked if you were injured, and I said that I am no surgeon.”

“There are many things you are not.”

“Indeed, my lord, but I did not think it expedient to list them all.”

“You mock me.”

“Are we not friends, my lord? I do but jest.” I tracked the motion of the rapier’s tip in the edge of my vision. “Hath Bernardo given you ill news?”

“None but that the world’s grown honest.”

“Then his news is not true.”

Christian did not smile at the joke.

“What did Bernardo tell you, Soren?”

I tried to recall anything Bernardo had said that I could safely repeat to Christian. The movement of the rapier was a terrible distraction.

“The general told me that the battle against Jaaperson was violent and bloody.”

“Did he say aught of my part in it?”

“A good day for all, he called it.”

“For all?”

“His very words, my lord.”

“Bernardo is not to be trusted.” Christian pulled me toward him until our faces were very close. I could not see the rapier at all. “I do not trust any man who is more loyal to his purse than to his king.”

“Then you distrust most men,” I said.

“Shall I trust you, Soren?”

“My lord, I am your father’s astrologer. If there is anything at all in my purse, it was put there because of my loyalty to your father.”

This was wildly bad logic, but I hoped my declaration would soothe the prince’s mood. Something had occurred to anger or frighten him. I hoped it was no more than Bernardo’s coming and Christian’s worry at disappointing his father, not some suspicion regarding myself.

“What else did he tell you?”

“He demanded a report on my progress listing Tycho’s instruments, and I gave it. There is nothing more.”

“Nothing more?”

“No, my lord.”

“Then I have done aright, and God will forgive me.” Christian released me and I fell back against the wall of the storeroom. He sheathed his sword. I put a hand to my side and felt the dagger hidden beneath my doublet.

“What have you done, my lord?”