The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,160

an obsession. Sometimes when they sat together over a game of chess, Valentin would suddenly hear the high-pitched voice from an entirely different corner of the room. He’d spin around with fright each time, but it was only Johann, sitting in front of him with a grin. On one of those occasions he pointed to the ceiling by way of explanation. “I’m merely testing the thesis of Vitruvius about the movement of sound. Conrad Celtis lent me a script by this astonishing Roman architect. Evidently, sounds travel on strange paths. That would be worth a treatise on its own.”

Valentin rolled his eyes. “When do you ever not think of our studies?”

“Well, art is long, and life is short and fleeting,” Johann replied with a shrug and continued to hum.

“Cut it out!” groused Valentin. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry. My nerves are raw since I’m studying for that accursed baccalaureus.” He sighed and pulled a face. “My Greek is a disaster, and I’m no good at dialectic. What am I going to do after the baccalaureus, when they add arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy? I’ve always wondered why you knew so much about all those things from the start. All those star signs and the calculations of the constellations.”

“I had a good teacher,” said Johann, lost in thought. “He used to show me the stars at night.”

“Where was that?” asked Valentin.

“At . . . at a tower. A tower in the woods near the Alps.”

Valentin frowned. “I thought you were from Knittlingen in the Kraichgau.”

“I traveled for a while,” replied Johann vaguely, inwardly cursing himself. He really needed to be more careful about what came out of his mouth. “I journeyed to the Alps once and spent a winter there.”

Dark memories rose to the surface of Johann’s consciousness—memories he’d been suppressing for a long time.

A blood-red circle . . . A pile of dirty, torn children’s clothes . . .

“Are you all right?” asked Valentin with a concerned look. “You’re very pale all of a sudden.”

Johann shook himself. “It’s nothing. I think I just need a little fresh air.” He stood up. “Please excuse me. I need to get a few more books to prepare for the next lecture.”

Valentin smirked. “Ah, there is the Faustus I know! Never at peace, always searching for something.”

You have no idea how right you are, thought Johann.

He forced himself to give his friend a smile, squeezed his hand, and hurried outside, where the fresh breeze swept through his hair.

In May, Margarethe finally came to the Heidelberg house of the Neuburg convent, and now she and Johann saw much more of each other. The nunnery sold its wine, cheese, and vegetables at the market, and Margarethe paid regular visits to their stall and balanced the accounts. On those occasions Johann stood underneath the dark arcades of the Church of the Holy Spirit, waiting for a sign from Margarethe, whereupon they’d both enter the church and sit down as if in prayer, Johann taking the pew behind Margarethe’s. He couldn’t see her face that way, but at least they could talk.

“I’ve been praying again,” whispered Johann. “And do you know what happened? The very same night an angel appeared in my dreams.”

“That’s a good sign, Johann,” replied Margarethe softly. “He is holding a hand over you so that evil can’t reach you.”

“He also spoke to me. He said that our love alone can heal us. He holds his hand over us and gives us his blessing.”

Margarethe’s head was still lowered, but he could tell that she was shaking. “What . . . what do you mean?”

“I think the angel wants you to leave the nunnery. He wants you to go with me, Margarethe, for the two of us to start a new life together in another city. I’m going to be a magister in just two years, and then I’ll be able to work at a university or as a teacher in a school, as a clerk, at a library, or—”

“Stop it, Johann! Stop!” Margarethe’s voice rose. Several worshippers turned to look at them, and she lowered her head again immediately. “I don’t want to hear such things. Nothing but silly daydreams.”

“And yet those dreams could become reality, Margarethe. If you wanted them to.”

She stood up and rushed out of the church.

Johann clenched his teeth. He had gone too far—too far for the first time. He’d have to proceed more slowly, take it meeting by meeting—but he was so impatient. He wanted to share his