But he was gone. The observatory was dark and abandoned. A cold wind rolled over me and scattered Tycho’s papers and charts down the length of the hallway.
I awakened on the floor of my chamber, lying between the foot of my bed and the table. The night was still. I could hear nothing in the castle and knew not what time it was. It could have been ten or it could have been three, and there was no way to know how long I had slept. I stirred up the coals in the stove, lay down upon the bed, and pulled a blanket over my face.
The morning came, and with it a pair of Swiss guards banging at my chamber door. Captain Marcellus called for me at once. The Switzers gave me only a few minutes to pull myself together and I was half dreaming still when they brought me, yawning and squinting, to an office in the Trumpeter’s tower.
Marcellus waved me toward a chair and I sat. He stood by the window, the sky bright blue behind him. He raked his fingers through a short blond beard.
“You are the astrologer.”
“Good morning, Captain Marcellus. Is there nothing to eat? Is there no wine? No water? No bread, even?”
Sleep had restored to me some of my confidence. I am not a brave man, but I have a royal commission and Marcellus’s rank was barely above mine. My unease of the previous day remained, but I would not panic under a foreign mercenary’s gaze. I had some idea what he wanted to ask, but I was better educated and more intelligent than him. Marcellus would learn nothing.
“You have a large appetite,” he said. “Especially for one who ought be in mourning.”
“In mourning?”
“You have not heard.”
“The king is dead?”
Marcellus laughed, joined by the Switzers who had brought me to him.
“Nay, Old Christian lives, as far as we know. I speak of Sir Tollbooth.”
“Tristram is dead?”
“You know Tristram did not see the king off yesterday. I know that you asked after him.”
“There was no news of him yesterday.”
“Then here is news. Tristram was found dead in his chambers, an empty wine bottle at his feet.”
That old fool, that prideful old fool. I should have known him better than to believe he would drink only a single cup. I knew he would become ill from the wine, but I had surely not meant to bring about his end. Tristram was dead, and my poison had killed him. He had not been a bad man, and I hoped he had felt no pain. For a long moment I could say nothing. I strove to hide my emotion as Marcellus waited for my answer, a slight smile upon his lips.
“Alas, poor Tristram,” I said finally. “His physician had warned him against drink. Everyone knows that.”
“Everyone knows that,” Marcellus repeated. “But I think it were better had Tristram been warned against poison. Do you not agree?”
“Poison? What means this?”
Marcellus stepped over to me and struck me hard across the face. I do not encounter pain often and I shrank from Marcellus, pushing the chair over and scrambling on hands and knees away from him. The other Swiss each took hold of an arm and lifted me to my feet. Marcellus reached out and gripped me by a handful of hair. He gave my head a powerful shake. I thought my scalp would come away from my skull, and I let out a pitiful little moan.
“Be quiet, astrologer. If you do not bawl like a woman, we will treat you like a man. But you must answer me honestly.”
“Answer for what?”
Marcellus released me and turned to set right the chair I had pushed over. The Switzers put me down in it and stood on either side.
“You think I am an idiot,” Marcellus said.
“Nay”
“You think you can outfox the truth and speak more cleverly than I have craft to understand.”
“Nay”
“You think that I will not cut you open and pull your entrails from your living gut and feed them to the crows while you watch the feast.”
“What madness is this?”
“You are bleeding, astrologer.”
I put a hand to my face and it came away with a trail of blood on the palm. My left eyebrow was cut open. My head still rang from the blow Marcellus had given me.
“I belong to the king,” I said. “You cannot torture me. You do not have the right.”
“I can deliver you such pain as you have never dreamed