Alchemy, p.39
Alchemy, page 39
Only the night before, I had despaired of finding anyone with a motive as persuasive as Montalcino’s for wanting the alchemist dead; now a whole new prospect had been revealed. If Bartos was in love with Katherina, that would explain why he was so easily persuaded into the Catholics’ plot – he would have a reason besides money to profit from the Emperor’s death. Was that what he had meant when he said the day was coming when they would no longer have to walk in the shadows? As for Katherina, she was her family’s passport to influence at court and proximity to the Emperor. They still hoped that her son would be ennobled; perhaps, given Rudolf’s reluctance to marry, they even dared hope that he would one day make Katherina his wife and her children legitimate heirs. It was one thing for the Emperor to tire of her and look elsewhere, quite another for her to do the same. If her father and brother had found out about Bartos, they may have feared that the liaison would prove catastrophic for their family’s fortunes, particularly if they knew she was pregnant by him. That was more than enough reason to want the alchemist out of the way.
But there was another possibility. What if the Emperor himself had discovered Katherina’s infidelity? The magnitude of this made my head spin so that I stopped in my tracks. Katherina turned and looked at me with concern.
‘Are you all right, Dr Bruno? Is it your head?’
I touched my fingertips to the bruise at the base of my skull. ‘I was late to bed, I’m afraid.’
‘I sympathise. My father had a bad night, and when that happens, I don’t sleep either.’
‘Then I’m sorry to have added to your burden by asking you to take care of Sukie. I can pay you for your trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble. She’s a sweet girl – very bright. I gave her a bath this morning, she was sorely in need of it. I think she has lacked a mother’s attentions.’
And a father’s, I thought, though I hoped that might change. ‘Well, thank you for all your kindness. She’ll have read her way through the imperial library by this time tomorrow,’ I said.
She smiled. ‘I like to see a girl hungry for knowledge. My father may have his faults, but he always insisted that I should learn as well as Ottavio.’
We paused outside the door to her father’s chamber.
‘And how are you?’ I asked, with a meaningful glance at her stomach.
‘Well enough. But, please …’ She hoisted the child on her hip and pressed a finger to her lips. ‘My father and brother still have no idea.’
I wouldn’t be so sure about that, I thought, as she knocked and opened the door for me.
Jacopo Strada was propped up on his pillows, a book open on his lap, his face grey. ‘Here he is,’ he said as I entered, in a tone that implied nothing good could come of my appearance.
‘Signor Strada.’ I crossed the room and bowed. ‘I’m sorry to see that you are unwell today.’
‘You’re not sorry, you Neapolitan snake,’ he said, pushing himself upright.
‘Papà,’ Katherina said in a warning tone.
‘Pardon?’ I said.
‘You heard me. You are my compatriot – does fellow-feeling count for nothing with you?’
‘I don’t know what—’
‘His Majesty says you want to look at my inventory.’
‘Ah.’
‘Yes, ah. You’ve told him I’m stealing from him, is that it?’
‘His Majesty did not need me to put that idea in his head. He notices things missing.’
‘Of course things are missing – he gives them away on a whim. You’ve seen his state of mind – he doesn’t remember from one day to the next. I have the devil’s own job trying to keep track of his sudden fits of generosity. But if you’re determined to prove me a liar, be my guest.’ He gestured to a large chest under the window. ‘Go on, help yourself.’
I hesitated, then crossed the room to lift the lid, feeling his sharp eyes on my back. Inside I found dozens upon dozens of ledgers. I took one from the top and opened it. The pages were crammed with lines of spidery handwriting, all initials and abbreviations, some of which were clearly dates, the rest a meaningless jumble that looked like one of Walsingham’s ciphers. There was no hope of making sense of any of it.
Jacopo watched me with his fox-like smile. ‘Feel free to read through them all and check them against the collections, won’t you,’ he said. ‘Although I’ll be long in my grave by the time you’ve finished.’ He let out a wheezing laugh.
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ I said, straightening. ‘Do you remember an Ottoman dagger, gold handle set with turquoise and rubies? A gift from the Venetian ambassador?’
He sat up, frowning. ‘Of course I remember that. Very fine workmanship. It disappeared about a month ago – at least, that’s when I noticed. How do you know about it?’
‘Did he give it to John Dee?’
‘He wouldn’t say who he’d given it to. What would John Dee want with a dagger? He’d only use it for opening letters. Unless he feared the Catholics were going to slit his throat one dark night.’ He laughed again and fell into a coughing fit, clutching at his chest and gesturing frantically for his enamel bowl. I looked around; Katherina had taken a seat by the fire with the boy in her lap, so I had no choice but to leap forward and hold the dish under the old man’s chin while he spat out a lump of phlegm.
‘Talking of murder,’ he said when he had recovered, ‘are you any nearer to discovering who killed the alchemist?’ His face gave nothing away.
‘I am continuing my enquiries,’ I said evenly. ‘It’s a question of finding someone with a compelling enough reason to want him dead. If you have any suggestions, I would be glad to hear them.’
‘I hear there’s been another death. A Jewish bookseller. Connected?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Well, then. If you want my advice, I think you should be looking across the river.’
I’m sure you do, I thought. ‘Why is that?’
‘Sounds like a case of an eye for an eye. A deal that went wrong.’
‘How?’
‘The bookseller was crooked. Ask my son – he did business with him. The Jew was forever trying to palm off books that were bad copies, or overcharging. Suppose he tried to cheat the alchemist, and Bartos threatened to report him or expose his corruption? Next thing you know, the alchemist is dead, with all the marks of a Golem on him.’
‘You’re saying the Golem killed Ziggi Bartos?’ I gave him a sceptical look and folded my arms.
‘No, you fool.’ He paused for another cough, pressing his hand to his heart. ‘I’m saying the Jews killed him and made it look like the work of a Golem, to sow terror in the city and emphasise their power.’
I didn’t bother to point out the obvious flaws in this argument. ‘Then who killed the bookseller?’
‘The alchemist’s friends, probably.’
‘He didn’t have any.’
‘Except Sukie,’ Katherina said quietly.
‘What’s that?’ Jacopo leaned forward, a hand cupped to his ear.
‘The little girl who’s staying with us. She was friends with Bartos, the alchemist. She told me.’
I watched her closely for any sign of emotion when she spoke his name, but she kept her tone entirely flat.
‘Well, I doubt she stabbed the bookseller and threw him in the river,’ Jacopo said dismissively. ‘No – this is a dispute between the Jews and the alchemists, you mark my words. I need to rest now. Listen to me, Dr Bruno. You and I understand one another, I think?’
‘In what sense?’
‘We are both Italians, men of letters, who – despite our native abilities – are obliged to depend on the favours of men who are our intellectual inferiors.’
‘Papà!’ Katherina stood, as if she might stop him speaking.
‘Quiet, girl. Bruno knows I am right. We have both learned to shift for ourselves. So I need you to impress upon His Majesty that I am not cheating him. Say you have looked through the ledgers and you are satisfied that he has no cause for concern.’
‘That will not go well for me if he discovers that I have lied to him.’
‘It is not a lie.’ He fixed a level gaze on me, giving nothing away.
‘And what will you do for me in return?’
‘Ha! Spoken like a Neapolitan. I will tell him that it would be a jewel in the crown of his reputation to keep a man of your abilities at his court to produce your books under his patronage.’ He paused, waiting to see my response. ‘And of course we will continue to keep that girl safe here.’
After a moment, I nodded.
‘Good.’ He fell back on his pillows, as if all this politicking had exhausted him. ‘Katherina will see you out.’
‘Is he stealing from the Emperor?’ I asked her, when she had closed the door behind us.
‘You don’t really expect me to answer that?’ She adjusted her son’s weight in her arms and glanced at me from the tail of her eye. ‘For as long as my father remains in charge of the collections, he sees it as his responsibility to maintain them in the best possible state. Sometimes that necessitates selling certain pieces in order to purchase others. But always for the Emperor’s glory and profit.’
‘And you forge letters for him to make these sales?’
‘It’s not forgery,’ she said, defensive. ‘He dictates them, I write them down. As he said, his hands are shaky now.’
‘But you write them down in his handwriting?’
She looked at her feet. ‘My father is a proud man. He doesn’t want the people he corresponds with to know how ill he is. Besides, his writing carries more authority. I have a good eye for copying – even Ottavio can’t tell the difference. You know, now that I think of it, I remember those knives you mentioned,’ she said, changing the subject.
‘Knives?’
‘Yes, they were a pair. The Ottoman daggers, very beautiful. Why would he give one to John Dee?’
‘Perhaps it was a reward for something. If they were a pair, where is the other? It’s not in the Kunstkammer.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe he gave it to someone else. Or sometimes he takes things that please him to his own private quarters to look at. Like a magpie. Why are you asking, anyway?’ Her eyes widened as she spoke, as if she had already found the answer. ‘Oh – you think it was used in the murder? Then – is John Dee involved? My father suspected he might be.’
‘I thought your father suspected the Jews?’
‘He suspects everyone. He has a somewhat jaundiced view of people.’
‘He is a Mantuan through and through, then,’ I said.
She laughed. ‘I’m sure he would say you are a Neapolitan through and through. I’ve always thought that absurd – the idea that people are all alike depending on their birthplace, or their family name, or the sign they were born under. As if we don’t all have to make our own choices.’
‘How do you see yourself, then, Katherina?’ I asked at the door.
Her face grew serious; her brown eyes met mine for a moment and slid away. ‘I’m a mother,’ she said, stroking the boy’s back as he began to stir. ‘That comes before everything.’
I reflected on her words as I hurried down the stairs. It was as if I had spent the last couple of days playing a complex game of chess, found myself in a stalemate, and suddenly Sukie’s discovery of the letter had thrown all the pieces into the air; I still had no idea where they might land. So there were two Ottoman daggers: one had been given by Rudolf to John Dee, who – for reasons unknown – had passed it on to Rabbi Loew. The other was missing, but presumably must be in the possession of someone who had access to the imperial collections, meaning the Emperor or a member of the Strada family.
Could Rudolf have killed Bartos? There was a horrible kind of logic to it. He discovers the woman he takes for granted has fallen in love with another man; perhaps she even wants a conventional marriage and family with Bartos. The Emperor is incensed; he summons his rival to a private audience and stabs him. Rudolf may not have been a soldier, but he was well-versed in anatomy and would have had tuition in fencing and swordplay as a boy, like all young nobles; he would have a good idea how to inflict a fatal blow to the heart. What he definitely would not have done with his own hands was to mutilate the body and sling it over the bridge; for that he would have required the services of someone close to him, whom he trusted. Not Jacopo, clearly. Ottavio Strada? He might have been only too pleased to help dispose of the man who threatened his family’s position. Or – here my throat tightened – Hajek?
There were two obvious flaws in this theory, I thought as I stepped out into the courtyard. It was Rudolf who had tasked me with finding the killer. Unless it was a test, to see if I had the ingenuity to work out who was responsible and the loyalty to relinquish the idea of justice when I discovered the truth. What had he said to me, that first night in the Kunstkammer? ‘Who do you think killed him?’ But if he had intended it as a riddle, nothing about his subsequent behaviour suggested that kind of cool detachment. I had seen him in the wake of the two grisly caskets with their cryptic messages from Bartos; he had been terrified. An attack of guilt? I found it hard to believe that a man whose boldest response to the brother who threatened his throne was to have someone else curse him at a distance could be capable of stabbing a man while looking him in the eye from a foot away.
I passed the vast flank of the cathedral with a glance at the door. Where was Katherina in all this, I wondered. She was a woman who had clearly learned to hide her feelings and turn them inward; even so, if Bartos had been her lover – if he was the father of her unborn child – she must be suffering unbearable grief, compounded by the suspicion that either her father, her brother or the Emperor were responsible. How could she endure it? And then it struck me: the messages from Bartos. Only five minutes ago, Katherina had told me of her gift for copying her father’s writing, so that even her brother could not distinguish the forgery; could she also have mimicked Bartos’s distinctive hand from his letters to her? She had asked specifically about my head. Only Hajek and Besler knew I had a head injury – apart from the person who had hit me in the crypt, of course. And that person would have needed access to the underground passage and advance warning that the Emperor was on his way to hear Mass, which could only have been someone inside the palace complex. It seemed highly likely, now that I thought about it, that Katherina was behind the macabre messages. But what had she hoped to achieve by them? To prick the Emperor’s conscience? To frighten him by implying that his guilt was known? Had she cut that poor dog up herself?
Only Katherina could answer those questions, and I knew she would never admit any of it to me; the Stradas would close ranks if my enquiries came too close to them. I had to hope that Sukie would turn up something more conclusive that I could use to persuade them.
I presented myself at the door of the Rozmberk Palace and was met by the taciturn steward, who regarded me with even greater disdain, if that were possible.
‘I left my cloak behind,’ I said.
‘Not all you left behind,’ he muttered, showing me into the courtyard. ‘Wait there.’
After a few minutes, he returned to announce that the countess would see me briefly, but she was very busy. I was led through the entrance hall, avoiding the gimlet eye of the count’s portrait, and into a small parlour. Everywhere there was a bustle of servants, an air of panicked activity. Xena sat pensively in a window seat, her hair tucked under a plain hood, a white rabbit fur cape around her shoulders. Without the cosmetics of the night before, she looked very young.
‘I came to present my apologies, my lady, and thank you for your hospitality.’
She regarded me coolly. ‘I consider it most ill-mannered of you to disappear like that, Bruno. Who is this woman who has you at her beck and call? My steward said she was old.’ She wrinkled her nose as if she had caught an unpleasant smell.
‘My host’s housekeeper. It was an emergency – she brought news of a friend who had been badly injured.’
‘I see. You might have explained before you left. Still, we managed to amuse ourselves in your absence.’
‘I’m sure. Where is he?’
‘Your assistant?’ She turned back to the window as if the subject held little interest. ‘I sent him on his way. You find us in a state of busyness – a fast rider came this morning from Trebon to say that my husband is coming home. We expect him tonight or tomorrow.’
‘No more dinner parties for a while, then.’
She smiled serenely. ‘I’m sure the count will wish to make your acquaintance when he arrives.’
That gave me an idea. ‘May I borrow paper and ink? I would like to leave a message for him.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Saying what?’
‘Actually, it’s a message for John Dee, which I hope your husband might be in a position to convey to him.’
‘Nothing about me?’
‘No, my lady.’ You are not as interesting as you imagine, I added silently.
‘Very well.’ She called the steward and sent him for writing materials. ‘Was your friend all right?’ she said, while we waited. ‘The one who was injured.’
‘I think she will live.’
‘She?’ Xena raised an eyebrow. ‘There I was thinking you were a stranger in Prague, but you seem to know a host of women.’
‘I make friends quickly. Though not as quickly as you, perhaps,’ I added, because I wanted her to know that I was angry about the way she had used Besler.
‘Don’t presume to judge me, Bruno,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You told me yourself – those of us who depend on the favour of powerful men must adapt to circumstances in order to survive.’
‘That’s not quite what I said.’
‘I’m sure you yourself are not unfamiliar with bending the rules.’
