The Astrologer

{ Chapter Six }

THE LEAST DOG IN DENMARK


THE QUEEN AND HER PARTY ARRIVED WELL BEFORE sundown, her majesty worse out of temper than ever I had seen her. Kirsten moved like a storm, bursting into the great hall and calling for the king. She was wrapped from her ears to the floor in a cloak of red fox pelts with a black wolf hat on her head. Only her eyes were visible between her furs, glittering sapphire blue and not resting on any face as she swept past the shivering courtiers hastily lined up just within the castle doors to greet her.

“Where is my husband?” she cried. “Someone bring me to the king this instant.” Her voice rang through the hall, a hammer beaten against iron.

Kirsten had forbidden her advance riders to precede her to the castle, and so we were caught off guard by her appearance, several hours earlier than expected. Servants and sycophants ran this way and that in her wake. I heard someone say that the king was in his chambers, having a bath. Prince Christian appeared and the queen threw herself at him, and then they were gone from the hall, the storm of angry queen blowing down the eastern corridor, her ladies-in-waiting running to keep up.

“Did you mark her majesty?” Straslund said to none in particular. “How she gave me an especial nod?”

The queen had brought a great many trunks, cabinets, and servants from Copenhagen and these poured into the fort, Kirsten’s possessions carried in a seemingly endless caravan down corridors, up flights of stairs, and delivered to her suite of rooms. There were boxes of clothing and jewelry, chairs and tapestries, a bedstead with a thick mattress, a rolling cabinet apparently filled with shoes, a dressmaker’s dummy and a dressmaker with her implements, and much more besides. Kirsten’s train from the palace must have stretched out for a mile as they traveled north along the highway.

A young woman drifted through the flood of furniture, clothing, and attendants. She was covered by a black bear cape worn over a simple white dress and a long necklace made up of amber beads strung together with fine gold wire. This was Vibeke, daughter of Lord Ulfeldt.

Vibeke moved slowly across the great hall, seemingly unaware of the bustle all around her, staying out of the path of rushing servants even while ignoring them, just as a cat moves through a crowded room without acknowledging the crowd. She walked directly toward me though she did not look into my eyes.

“Good Soren,” she said, and gave me her hand. I bowed. She curtsied and smiled, looking over my left shoulder.

“Lady Vibeke. I did not know you were coming to Kronberg.”

“I did know it. I have known all the day and now here I am. Is this Kronberg? It is a dark place.”

“Kronberg is not so dark during the morning, lady. You shall so observe tomorrow.”

“If it is day tomorrow.”

“Indeed, and I dare say it will be.”

“Well, you are the astronomer, so you would know this.”

“Aye, lady.”

Vibeke continued to hold my hand and to gaze beyond me into the distance. She had ever been thus, looking past those to whom she spoke and not holding directly to the purpose of any conversation. Her mother had died giving birth to her and it was said that Vibeke had been damaged in some way. The nurses fed her hellebore for many years before Lord Ulfeldt finally accepted that his daughter was to be forever strange. Yet Vibeke was clever and fine company if one did not require the discourse to follow a well-defined path.

“Will you cast horoscopes while we are here in Kronberg, Soren?”

“If any here desire it.”

“For the queen, then?”

“If she so desires.”

“And for me?”

“If such is your desire, my lady.”

“Oh, I have not that desire, sir. Though I may ask you to gaze into the heavens and foretell of my brother.”

“Is your brother still in Paris?”

“My brother traffics with Huguenots while he should traffic in saints. I do wonder what he wonders. It is a wonder if Jens learns anything at the seminary in that city.”

“I would cast his horoscope if you like, my lady.”

“I would not like, but thank you sir. I would thank you not to cast Jens to the planets.”

“Or to the stars, lady? The stars may be luckier.”

“Nay, the stars are fire. They are unlucky. Thou shouldst traffic in law, Soren. Did you not study the law?”

“Indeed, lady. I did.”

“Well, then. The law is neither hot nor cold and surely it can harm none. Jens studies for the priesthood. There is a law unto that as well.”

“I know this, lady.”

She cocked her head to one side, a lark in the field, listening.

“Is my lord Christian about?”

“I saw him just now, greeting the queen.”

Vibeke smiled, head still tilted, her eyes looking far beyond me.

“I shall see him at supper, I think. My father will be most surprised.”

“Lord Ulfeldt did not send for you?”

“Nay. It was Christian called me forth. I must go anon to find my rooms and dress for the feast. I shall look my best for my lord.”

“Ah.”

“Ah, indeed, sir. Ah.” Vibeke squeezed my hand. “My lord Christian doth desire my company in so cold and dark a place as this. The queen will not be pleased.”

Indeed, Kirsten would find it most distasteful if what Vibeke implied was true, that the prince had begun some kind of romance with her. Ulfeldt’s family was of noble blood, but Kirsten had made it known that any woman whose father did not wear a crown was below Prince Christian’s station. Christian was beyond Vibeke’s star and I hoped the prince was not dallying with the poor, addled maid. I resolved to ask him when I could.

“The queen,” I said. “No, she will not be pleased. You must say nothing of this to her.”

“I am no foolish child, sir.” Vibeke released my hand and curtsied. “I must away, Soren. Welcome to Elsinore.”

“My thanks, lady.” I bowed and she drifted off, the bearskin slipping from one shoulder and her head still cocked to one side, very like a little bird. I could not remember if she was eighteen or nineteen, but Vibeke had grown into a pretty enough woman and had already been pursued by a few men that I knew of, Straslund among them for a month or so. Vibeke was an Aries, and so was ruled by Mars. Mars is a fiery planet that drove Vibeke to be busy in the daytime, and gave her an appetite for liking people and enjoyment. Mars also prompted her to make up her mind with little deliberation. She had a great memory for facts, but as an Aries she could put little order to those facts. Her suitors grew discouraged when they saw how curious and strange a wife Vibeke would make, a poor match for any man of high estate. This made it doubly strange that the prince would send for her if he was seeking a bride.

I would not find any answers while tarrying in the entryway, and with the great doors standing open it had grown cold in the hall. I could see my breath as well as the breath of the harried servants. It was as if the atmosphere was all around us filled with spirits briefly glimpsed, who then faded back into their own realm. I shivered and walked down the southern hallway to Sir Tristram’s small library. I had been told of it by the priest who sat next to me during the banquet. The library was located near the stairwell to the Trumpeter’s Tower and I knew it by the portrait of Saint Jerome painted on the door.

The lock was undone and the handle turned. I opened the door an inch but could not push it any farther. The whispering of two voices, maybe more, came to me and then the door slammed shut against me.

“Hello?” I knocked and pushed against the door, but I was once more forced back. “Is this not the library?”

The lock clicked. Whoever was within had turned the key. I pressed my ear against the panel and could make out voices, indistinct and angry, fading rapidly as the speakers moved away from the door.

I was most vexed, having brought no decent books with me from Copenhagen. Supper was hours away and there were no duties to be performed, there was no one with whom I wished to speak, and there was nothing to read. It was dispiriting to think of the hours filled with boredom which lay before me like heavy chains around my heart. In poor spirits I wandered to my own room where I began to draft a new chapter for Nunc Scio Mysterium, arguing the need for well stocked public libraries in all of Denmark’s towns.

The day crawled forward as the slow diurnal hours rotated through the ecliptic. Snow fell off and on through the afternoon and into the evening. At last a page summoned me to the queen’s welcome feast. I was a member of the small party who followed the king and queen into the dining hall, where the great table had been set at only one end, scores of seats left empty during this intimate meal of family and close friends. Lords and generals were being fed on the opposite side of the castle, on tables set up in the armory, while I found myself in royal company. When we took our places there was only Prince Christian standing between me and the king. To my right was the lord Bishop Harlen of Aalborg, who had come back with us on the ship from Jutland. He was the queen’s second cousin on her mother’s side. Queen Kirsten stood at the king’s left hand, and then Ulfeldt and Vibeke opposite me, and finally Sir Tristram, across the table from Bishop Harlen. By rights Tristram should have had my place, but he did not seem to notice the slight.

The royal couple took their seats in elaborate chairs with high backs and rich silk cushions as the rest of us bowed. Kirsten waved a hand and smiled, managing to turn her face to each of her guests without looking any of us in the eye. It was the way she looked over crowds from her carriage during ceremonies and parades.

“I bid you all sit, please.” Kirsten had a lovely voice, her speech clear and precise with large, round vowels, her intonation always carefully rising and falling as if every word she spoke was planned well in advance.

“To my lady’s safe arrival,” the king said, raising his cup.

“To the queen,” we all answered, and drank, all but Tristram. He raised the cup to his lips but took not a drop. The bishop emptied his cup and called for more wine to begin the inevitable series of lengthy speeches in welcome of Kirsten. I recalled a visit from Bishop Harlen to Copenhagen years before, when his salute to the royal family had dragged out to half an hour, becoming a confused homily for a while before the queen had coughed, delicately but clearly, to remind the bishop that he stood in her dining hall and not the pulpit.

“My good cousin Harlan,” Kirsten said as the bishop rose from his chair, goblet in hand. “Let me take your praise as given, I pray you. On Sunday we shall delight if you condescend to preach in our chapel, but for tonight know that I am well pleased to join you all here at Elsinore. My good husband’s welcome is enough for me, but I am most flattered by the certain knowledge that whatever you would say to us now, it is both true and beautiful and heartfelt, my lord bishop, and I do thank you.”

“Aye, Majesty.” The bishop was half out of his chair, a puzzled look on his face. He bowed his head and returned to his seat in a clumsy motion, a sulking lapdog told to remain at his master’s feet. Harlen placed the wine cup beside his trencher and kicked me in the ankle with his slippered foot to remind me that I was also the queen’s guest and should salute her. I leaned forward and lifted my own cup. Before I could rise, Kirsten held up her hand to stop me.

The queen was a tall woman, blonde, fine-boned, and she had just turned one-and-forty. She was younger than the king and hardly showed her age, beautiful in a high-collared dress of red and gold with black and white insets in the sleeves and gold lace at the cuffs. She smiled and looked around the table.

“Good gentlemen all,” she said. “Enough of these salutes for now. Let us eat. Come, bring the feast.” She signaled the servants and the first of many courses was brought forward. Tristram declared it the finest meal he had ever seen prepared at Kronberg and thanked Kirsten for troubling to bring her own cooks. There were salats of boiled, peeled onions with vinegar, oil, and pepper; rich mutton broth; small pastries with hot sauce; chicken breast in aspic with sweet mustard; roast venison with out-of-season asparagus grown in the queen’s hothouse in Copenhagen; stuffed oranges; crousets; pickled olives; white manchet loaves; and much more that I cannot recall.

I kept one eye on the king in case my brief prayer was answered and he choked on a bone or a mouthful of gristle. He did not choke, but let the cooks fill his plate over and over while he chatted with Kirsten and the others. For some time the conversation remained on the excellent food before the talk strayed to the king’s mission.

“My queen, you are at last safe in my keep here,” the king said. “I am now free to ride forth and slay all those on Zealand who sought to ally themselves with Gustavus.”

“Will it be a lengthy war?” Kirsten picked at a stuffed capon, pushing it around her plate without eating a bite. “Will it be a dangerous employment, my lord?”

“Who can say, my lady?” The king chewed a mouthful of venison and glanced up at the ceiling. “War is ever an excellent danger for a man. Are there no eels tonight?”

“None,” the queen said.

“But I like eels.”

“Is this dinner not in my honor, my lord?”

“All this food,” the king said, gesturing at the many dishes spread before us. “All of this, and no eels for the king?”

“I will send for the cooks,” Tristram offered.

“Nay,” Vibeke said. There was a moment of quiet as we all looked over at the girl. She wore a dress of crimson and white with gold insets in the sleeves and the same amber necklace she’d had earlier. Vibeke held out a hand, palm upward, toward the king. “His Majesty sleeps fitfully when he’s eaten eels, Sir Tristram. His doctor forbids it, just as you are forbidden to drink wine.”

Kirsten turned to Ulfeldt, smiling. “Is your daughter now the surgeon’s assistant, that she knows these things?”

“Nay, lady,” Vibeke said. Her hand was still held out over her plate and she gazed into some dark corner of the hall. “I have heard you remark yourself at the king’s poor sleep when his Majesty’s diet is of eels. And earlier tonight Sir Tristram told me himself that he is ever thirsty yet nothing is given him to drink but milk and water, by order of the physick. Indeed, his cup even now is full of water, is’t not, my lord Tristram?”

“Aye, lady. It shames me like nothing else to say it and I pray you all keep my secret.”

“It is no secret if Vibeke hath heard it,” Christian said with a sharp laugh. “All her life she hath spoken whatever comes into her head. When I was a boy, I made the error of telling Vibeke that I stole a plate of tarts from the kitchen to give to my groom for his family. The cooks learned of it within the hour and I was beaten for it.”

“As you deserved.” The king laughed and slapped Christian on the shoulder.

“I have since learned to keep secrets.” Vibeke toyed with her string of amber beads.

“Indeed?” Kirsten turned again to Ulfeldt. “What sort of secrets does your daughter imagine herself to keep, my lord?”

“Lady, I know not.” Ulfeldt shifted in his chair to face Vibeke and frowned at her. “Daughter, what hidden knowledge can you have?”

“I do not like to say, my lord.” Vibeke opened her mouth wide and then closed it with a snap. “To tell my secrets would be to tell my secrets. You have told me openly my whole life that to be open with that which should stay hid is to endanger the realm, and therefore the wisest course is to keep a closed mouth.”

“Vibeke would surely be wisest to keep a closed mouth,” Kirsten said, smiling at Ulfeldt. “A nation should guard herself constantly, lest some villain enter her gates and breed discontent. We must all be wary.”

“Aye, majesty.” Ulfeldt nodded and brushed a clove from his beard. “Daughter, take heed of the queen’s good advice, for she is a woman of experience.”

“Father, I am not unexperienced. You are mistaken to think I carry about the innocent head of a maiden, for I have lived all my life at court.”

“Enough,” the king said. “Enough, I say. In my own experience I have found that every woman says too much. I am yet desirous of eels, but I shall feast upon the queen’s favored dishes this night. There is also more on a king’s plate than meat and fruit, and that would I discuss now.”

“My father refers to the rebellion,” Christian said to Kirsten. She looked down at the stuffed capon on her plate.

“I know what the king means.”

“I am to join him while he stamps out the traitors,” Christian said. He spoke quickly and looked from his mother’s face to that of his father. “There is an army led by Baron Jaaperson marching east from Roskilde even now, is that not so, Lord Ulfeldt?”

“Aye, my lord. Though it is less an army than it is a band of peasants and petty thieves led by the baron and a few other knights.”

“What can they intend?” The bishop waved a hen’s leg vaguely to the west, toward Jutland. “Have they not yet heard of the king’s victory at Aalborg? Does Jaaperson not know that he marks himself now for death?”

“They think us weak,” the king said. “They think that with my personal army halved, split between Jutland and this garrison at Elsinore, they can march into Copenhagen, sit in my throne, and declare themselves kings of Denmark.”

“Theirs is but foolish talk,” Tristram said. “None can but dream of taking my lord’s throne.”

“And what is to stop them from dreaming?” The king held up a fist before his face and then slowly opened his hand. “We have fled from Jutland and holed up here, in this remote fortress, so they will say. But Christian son of Rorik, king of the Danes, fears no man. None, do you hear me?”

“Who calls you coward, my lord?” Ulfeldt lifted a spoonful of something to his face, sniffed it, and set it back on his plate. “No man that I know of. Even Baron Jaaperson fears your might, though his hubris spurs him on against you. We will have all the advantage, however, as he knows not that I have discovered his plans to march upon Copenhagen.”

“Your ears are long indeed,” the king said. “Again have you proved your value, Ulfeldt. We shall ride out in two days to meet Jaaperson. His army now treks heavily through the thick forests, through the snowdrifts and ice-filled rivers that separate Roskilde from Copenhagen. My army shall be waiting when Jaaperson and his exhausted men come out of the trees to make for the road. It shall be a glorious day, and my nearest enemy shall meet my blade and know death. Fear not, my lord bishop. Fear not, my queen.”

“Fear not, mother,” Christian said. “My father has ever won his battles, and I shall be at his side this time.”

“We will lay waste to those fools,” the king said, and placed his meaty hand atop his son’s. “They will see that I am not so old, nor you so young, that we may be trifled with. Christian and Christian, shoulder to shoulder, father and son, king and prince: it will be a sight to make Saint Canute smile in Heaven.”

“I do not wish our son to see Canute on that day,” Kirsten said.

“Nor the king neither,” Vibeke said. Prince Christian and the king smiled and sat back, puffing up their chests.

“Death is nothing,” the king said. “I have seen death often.”

“The deaths of other men, yes,” Kirsten said.

“Mother, do not worry.” Christian lifted his goblet. “Let us drink to the coming victory of the Dane over the traitor Jaaperson.”

I raised my cup and feigned sipping my wine while Christian and the others drank to this victory. Closing my eyes, I wished the king a personal introduction to death. The party fell silent for a few minutes. It occurred to me that Christian had paid very little attention to Vibeke. When the conversation resumed, the prince asked his mother for news from the city. The bishop took up with Ulfeldt and Sir Tristram a discussion of the spread of Luther’s religion. None had addressed me during the meal and I remained quiet, attending as best as I could to the conversations around me. I saw that the king watched Vibeke closely; like a dog before a foxhunt, he seemed to strain forward in his chair toward her, though Vibeke looked the whole time from her father to the bishop and Tristram. The king turned unexpectedly to face me and I jumped the least bit in my chair.

“Soren.”

“Majesty.”

“How are you enjoying Kronberg?”

“My lord, it is a fine fortress. I thank you for bringing me here. It is an honor.”

“I bring you here because you are of use. You have heard how pleased I am with the horoscope you cast in Jutland before my victory over Gustavus?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“You have just heard that another battle will come in a few days.”

“My lord, am I to come with you into battle against the baron?”

The king’s eyes grew wide and then narrowed and he laughed, throwing back his head. The coarse noise of his mirth filled the hall and silenced the others at the table. At length the king had done with laughing, wiped tears from his eyes, and took a deep drink of wine.

“You do amuse me,” he said. “Bring you into battle? Nay, Soren. Not this time. There will be no safe encampment where you may remain whilst Denmark’s men are at play.”

“I confess myself relieved, my lord.”

“I doubt it nothing. You will cast horoscopes for me, and for the prince my son, and also for Jaaperson. Lord Ulfeldt can provide you with those facts pertaining to the baron’s nativity that you require. You will give me these horoscopes for two, three, and four days hence.”

“My lord, you shall have them before you ride for Copenhagen.”

“I shall have them tomorrow, in the morning, I think.”

He had just informed me that I would have no sleep that night. I nodded and looked into his eyes, hating him.

“The heavens may not be friendly to your intent,” Kirsten said. “What will you do then, my lord?”

The king looked at Kirsten out of one eye and then turned to study Prince Christian’s profile a moment.

“Soren will tell me aught I need know about the inclination of the stars,” he said. “And then we ride for Copenhagen and victory, my lady. Fret not.”

“I pray my lord Christian will be proved lucky by the heavens,” Vibeke said. She stared wide-eyed past my left shoulder.

“The sons of Rorik have ever fared lucky with the angels,” the king said, smiling broadly. The queen coughed, a sharp barking noise from behind her delicate fist, and the king’s smile disappeared.

“Father,” Christian said. “You have not told good Soren the new duties he is to enjoy while we are about crushing your enemies. I know that a great curiosity eats at him.”

“Night and day, my lord,” I said. “Merely command me to my employment and I will gladly serve.” I would gladly serve him a tray of poisoned eels were I able. I would stuff them with hebona and the king could stuff them down his toothy maw and perish upon his favorite delicacy.

“You know that Brahe left a dungeon full of rubbish out on my island,” the king said.

I nodded. He had given the island as a personal fief to Tycho twenty-five years earlier to use as a private observatory. Had the king not been a liar, a barbarian, and a thief, my master would yet be alive on Hven, studying the motion of stars and planets. Were Tycho still alive I would be dining joyfully with him, not in Kronberg. I nodded at his Majesty and smiled upon the king’s rich clothes, his jewels, his broad chest and thick beard and large, flat teeth that he picked with a thumbnail. I wondered how God could allow such a beast to extinguish the greatest light of the age. To look from Tycho Brahe to Christian son of Rorik was to compare a saint to a toad. Denmark would see the scales balanced.

“My lord,” I said. “I am aware that Tycho’s stationary implements remain out at Uraniborg. My lord forbade Tycho from removing them to Prague.”

“Prague.” The king made a face as if the word tasted bitter on his tongue. “These tools were built with my gold.”

Tycho had constructed the observatory with his own money and what sums the king had supplied him—and I know there were large sums of gold over the years—was money given after Uraniborg was built, granted supposedly in good faith and in furtherance of science. The island, the observatory, and the instruments all were Tycho’s personal property before the king stole them away.

“All these marvelous inventions belong to my king,” I said. “Monarchs of any sort of learning must envy you, my lord.”

“I care not for the envy of other monarchs.”

“Nay, sir, not a whit.” Kirsten smiled at the king and placed her right hand atop his left. “Not a jot. Not an iota, sir.”

“Not a speck,” the king said, brushing Kirsten’s hand away. “I care about recouping some of the gold I poured into that charlatan’s laboratory.”

Charlatan? I bit down hard on my tongue.

“I need a man who knows the worth of Brahe’s abandoned toys, to conduct an inventory of them and provide me with a bill of sale.”

“Bill of sale, my lord?”

“These toys rusting on my island have been requested by the Holy Roman emperor, and I see no reason not to sell them to him. They will find themselves crated and shipped off by springtime.”

“To Prague, my lord?”

“Aye. You will prepare the inventory and negotiate the price with that idiot whom Rudolph has found to replace Brahe.”

“Kepler?”

“If it is Kepler, then yes. If it is some other man, so be it. Lord Ulfeldt has the pertinent names.”

The king waved a hand vaguely and turned to Ulfeldt. They began speaking of some other matter and I realized that I had been dismissed.

“Majesty!”

“Eh? You may speak to Ulfeldt on the morrow about the terms of your commission, Soren. I am concluded with you.”

“But you will remove Tycho’s instruments to Prague and allow that Kepler—that German cripple—to claim the greatest discoveries of the age? Majesty, you ought to keep these treasures and raise a new observatory. And more, there is a new invention, called the telescope. If my lord would only give me leave to have one built by his royal craftsmen in Copenhagen, the science of astronomy could remain Denmark’s triumph to intellectual greatness! The loss to science—”

I had been raving, and I knew it. The king meant to strip the last remnants of my master’s brilliant work from Denmark and turn over all that remained of Tycho’s legacy to a lot of foreigners. I had risen half out of my chair and all those at the table stared at me, I who dared lecture the king about a man he despised. I closed my mouth and dropped back into my chair.

“Forgive me, my king.”

To my great surprise, he laughed.

“I have been told how you love your new philosophy,” he said. “Such is the damage done by too much exposure to universities and too much time cloistered with madmen like Brahe. You have ever been clever, and a good servant to us. Your passion is misplaced, but still I admire a man of passion.”

The baboon had forgiven my rudeness. I swallowed and cast about for something meaningless to say.

“Majesty, my passion has ever been the philosophies.”

“Indeed, father.” Christian patted my arm as if I were his pet. “My old tutor has even written a book on the manner whereby the philosophy of discovery will improve the world.”

“Oh, rubbish,” Ulfeldt said.

I waved a hand and shrugged, a stupid smile upon my face. The conversation had just become worse, and I sought a way to end it.

“My book is nothing, my lord. I regret my ill behavior after his Majesty had dismissed the subject. I am happy now to be silent and eat my fruit.”

“Yet you intend to publish this book of yours?” Ulfeldt turned to Bishop Harlan. “This is the author of whom I told you yesterday. He calls for an end to our religion and a worship of Copernicus instead.”

“Lord Ulfeldt, I must protest!” I tried hard to laugh and maintain my forced smile. My laughter sounded like a babe wailing with colic. “I do not write that we should worship Copernicus, but that we ought worship God while at the same time look at the evidence of our own eyes.”

“You would put the Sun where the Earth stands?” The bishop had turned to me, his cheeks coloring. Had I been able to turn invisible, I would have. “By what right does the Sun— which by the evidence of all our eyes circles about us—think itself as noble as the Earth, from the soil of which God Himself formed man in His image? Put the Sun at the center of God’s universe? Madness, boy. Why not Venus, or Mars, then? Why not the moon, or one of the comets, or my slipper, or even the left bollock of the least dog in Denmark? Nay, this is chaos. Nothing but a striving toward nothingness. When all creation is equal, there will be nothing that matters. As with the Earth, so also our kings, the saints, and even our Redeemer, our God Himself. No. No, I say. Some things, young sir, are superior to others.”

It was a very quiet room when the bishop finished lecturing me. My face burned with shame and anger, but I held my tongue and looked down at my plate.

“You would have the king command his jewelers to build you a device—this telescope of yours—so you might prove the king is insignificant,” Ulfeldt said. “You take your philosophy rather farther than is wise.”

I shook my head, feeling both hugely conspicuous and miniscule. It was as though the world had suddenly turned into a deadly storm, a whirlwind of daggers all about me, and my least misstep would prove fatal. Should the bishop even whisper the word “blasphemy,” I might well find myself in chains on the way to the stake. All for a book a mere handful of men had read.

“Well,” the king said. “I have no interest in this book, or in your astronomy, Soren.”

“I am sure the king’s brother would find this volume fascinating,” Kirsten said. “Prince Frederik enjoys the sciences, and such harmless, enlightening thought experiments as these Soren has written.”

“My brother spends his all too many idle hours considering much he ought not.” The king belched and wiped his mouth. “I doubt it nothing he is even now, off in Jutland, boring my generals with hypotheticals and poetry. I pity them.”

“I miss his conversation,” Kirsten said. It was widely held that having been born under Venus made Kirsten a good match for the king. Her coolness was said to temper the fire of Jupiter’s influence over her husband.

“I doubt it not that you miss Frederik’s tongue,” the king said. “Be content that he is safe where he is, well-guarded by my soldiers.”

“I believe you, my husband.”

“Thou shouldst, my good wife. It has been the study of hypotheticals and poetry which have made Frederik into a prancing fat courtier instead of a knight. Sometimes my brother’s words are a poison in my ear, and nothing else. Your endorsement of Frederik’s interest in this book has decided me. Soren!”

I jumped in my seat and nodded, unwilling to say another word.

“This book of yours distempers me, and it is meet you should not wish to disturb your king.”

I nodded.

“I wish to hear no more of it, tonight or ever, as long as I live.”

I nodded.

“Therefore I forbid you to publish this poisonous little volume. Do you hear me, sirrah?”

I nodded, coughed and whispered that I heard his command. Oh vile king, thou beast in a crown, thou rodent swaddled in ermine, I do hear thee.

“Excellent. But look you all, how our mood is spoilt. This night was to be a celebration of my Kirsten’s arrival to safety with me. I say shame, on all of you men. Even you, my cousin Lord Bishop, yes. So, then.”

The king pushed back his great chair and rose. We all stood, Tristram groaning as he put weight on his gouty leg.

“My appetite for food and drink is gone, but my taste for merriment is unsated.” A monstrous grin split his face, a pig at his trough. “Therefore I bid you gentles goodnight, so that the queen and I may retire.”

We bowed. The king took Kirsten’s hand and marched out of the room, pulling the queen after him. Vibeke giggled and looked at her plate.

Christian leaned close to me and whispered, “Some of your book is writ quite well, I thought. I am sorry that you can never print it.”