The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,148

alone defended him when Altmayer and his companions riled up the other students against Johann. Johann would clench his fists in his pocket, but he never lashed out. He knew it would only make things worse. The building of the laterna magica came to a halt because they didn’t have the mirror and a few other materials.

The only thing that cheered up Johann during those days was the thought of seeing Margarethe soon. He counted the days until the feast day of Archangel Michael and wrote short love poems in Greek, which he burned as soon as he finished them. When he lay awake at night, he envisioned a simple life with Margarethe at his side, making wine or farming, with a lively bunch of children around them, somewhere far away from Heidelberg and the university. He fell asleep with those images in his mind.

It was the end of September, only two days before the rendezvous with Margarethe, when Jodocus Gallus called him to the front after a lecture. Johann braced himself for the worst.

The rector looked at him with a serious expression. “I don’t think I need to explain what position you got yourself into with your speech up at the castle,” he said as he cleaned his glasses. “You’ll understand—”

“I will pack my things today,” said Johann.

Gallus paused wiping his glasses, astonished. “What are you talking about? Do you think that just because for once the wind is blowing the wrong way you have to abandon ship? Are you that weak? That’s not like the Faustus I know.”

“So . . . so what do you expect me to do?” asked Johann.

“I don’t expect anything.” Gallus smiled. “I’m merely delivering an invitation. My friend Conrad Celtis would like to see you again, tonight at the castle. Just you this time. It looks like you’re getting a chance to patch things up.” He put his glasses back on and studied Johann out of small, reddened eyes. “For whatever reason, Conrad has taken a liking to you. I’d advise you to hold back on the newfangled ideas this time.”

“That’s . . . I mean . . .” Johann was too confused for words.

“Now you’ve lost the power of speech for the second time.” The rector laughed. “My dear Faustus, I just don’t get you. One day you’re as smart as three doctors, and the next you’re as slow witted as a peasant.” He cocked his head and wagged a finger. “Don’t put me to shame! If Celtis tells me of any foolishness on your part, I won’t be able to keep you here. For a student as young as you, you’ve made an astonishing number of enemies.” Gallus waved his hand impatiently. “Now get out of here before someone sees you with me and draws the wrong conclusions. This place is worse than a bunch of gossiping fishwives.”

That evening, Johann walked up to the castle by himself without any watchmen, torches, or fellow students. The guards had been expecting him and led him up a flight of stairs to the rooms of a side wing where Celtis resided during his stays at the castle. The scholar was sitting alone by a big, open fire that cast the plainly furnished room in a dancing red light. Moldy carpets covered the walls, and a rough-hewn chest stood in a corner. Apparently Celtis was no friend of luxury and comforts. When Johann lingered uncertainly in the doorway, the scholar gestured toward a stool by the fire.

“Sit,” he commanded coolly.

Johann nodded humbly and took his seat. He had sworn to himself to weigh each word carefully this time.

He began, “Honorable master, I am so—” but Celtis cut him off by placing one finger against his own mouth. For a long moment Celtis just sat and scrutinized Johann while the logs in the fire crackled and crumbled into ashes.

“Do you like poems?” asked Celtis eventually.

Johann nodded, surprised. He hadn’t expected this question. “I . . . I write some myself, occasionally. Nothing long, just short, silly lines.”

Celtis smiled suddenly, and dimples appeared in his hitherto stony, forbidding face. “So do I, as you probably know. You remind me very much of another stupid young boy who was hell-bent on doing things his own way and exploring new worlds. That was a long time ago.” He sighed. “But that’s not why I invited you here tonight. It’s about that one question you asked me at our last meeting.”

“You mean . . . Gilles de Rais?” Johann thought