Johann had noticed that Karl was no longer the sensible rationalist he used to be. It seemed as if the years of madness had led him to God. Thankfully, Karl still couldn’t remember everything that had happened at Tiffauges, but Johann suspected that somewhere, deep down inside Karl, still resided the images of the horned one, the creature whose presence they had both felt in the well below the church.
The black potion will lead you to him, little Faustus. You are his favorite.
Back then he would have sacrificed Karl without batting an eyelid. Now Johann was glad to have Karl by his side, even if he’d been reluctant at first. He had been alone for so long that he no longer knew what company meant. Johann sensed that Karl loved and needed him more, but the younger man’s presence gave him the feeling of leading a seminormal life again. Yes, he was glad Karl was with him. Karl reminded him of the time before Tiffauges, and also a little bit of himself a long time ago.
Something cawed, and Johann looked up. A crow flew past his head and landed on a stone step outside the cathedral.
Johann picked up a stone and threw it at the bird, which rose into the air with a caw and flew away. In the last two years he hadn’t paid much attention to ravens and crows—he’d been too busy trying to stay on his feet or sleeping off the booze. But since he’d quit drinking, he noticed the birds again. They seemed to follow him.
Or was he following them, like in the Loire Valley and on their journey to Tiffauges?
Johann had a hunch that Tonio was still closer to him than he’d thought.
When Karl emerged from the cathedral, he gazed pensively at Johann. “I can tell that you’re brooding. It’s about Tonio again, isn’t it? He won’t let you go. You’re afraid that he is in Rome. With Greta.”
“It’s nothing,” replied Johann, shaking his head, trying to smile. “The sun is burning too hotly, that’s all.”
It was one of the many small lies he used to once again build up a wall between himself and the world.
20
NEARLY TWO MONTHS LATER THEY FINALLY REACHED THE outskirts of Rome.
Their beards had grown back, the blisters on their feet had healed into hard calluses, and their skin was as brown as tanned leather. Even though their wide-brimmed hats scarcely shielded them from the hot September sun, Johann strode ahead vigorously. They had sold the stubborn donkey a while ago because Johann no longer needed it. His old strength returned with every mile they drew nearer to Rome. The city was surrounded by fields, though many of them were barren and abandoned. Decrepit villas told of wealthy landowners from long ago. Shepherds pushed their goats across the overgrown roads, which used to be wide enough for two carts to pass one another. Now thistles, mint, and rosemary grew in the gaps of the pavers, and the Roman milestones stood crookedly in the ground.
The closer they got to the city, the more ruins they saw in the hills. Some of them looked like ancient heathen temples or mausoleums, while others used to be magnificent summer residences. The houses still seemed to be occupied—not, however, by rich patricians. Women in threadbare, dirty clothing peered out from behind animal hides covering the windows, their men dragging plows across dry, karstic fields where once upon a time luscious gardens and olive groves had flourished. Rising into the sky beyond, like plague boils on the body of an incurably sick man, were the hills of Rome.
Johann tried to imagine how splendid this city must have been once. Urbs Aeterna. The center of the world! But centuries had passed since, many different armies had assaulted the city with sword and fire, and not much was left of its former glory. Still, the sight of the city filled Johann with a deep longing, as if he were returning to a place he’d left behind many lives ago.
Now they could see a high bridge made of stone spanning the landscape. “One of the famous aqueducts,” said Johann excitedly to Karl, who was holding up his hand against the blinding sun.
Even though it was nearly October, temperatures were still extremely hot. Johann pointed at the arches of the bridge, which was crumbling in many places even as it stretched across the landscape like a snake.
“Once upon a time, the aqueducts brought water from faraway to the city. There were baths, cold ones as well as warm ones heated with fire in underground stoves. Those baths were huge basins created for the enjoyment of all Romans—poor and rich, men and women. They were called thermal baths.” He gave a sigh. “So many things disappeared with the Romans, and it is going take a very long time before those accomplishments return—if ever.”
“But those Romans also used to set wild animals on Christians in their circuses,” said Karl. “And they loved to watch as gladiators brutally killed each other. Rather barbaric, if you ask me.”
Johann nodded. “Man carries both sides within himself—he is angel and demon at once.” Quietly he added, “Who’d know better than me?”
They had come down the Via Francigena, the old pilgrimage route that led into the holy city from the north. From Arles their road had led first to Genoa and then to Pisa, then across the Apennine Mountains, which Johann knew from his previous journey through Italy. Back then he had traveled with a troupe of jugglers, performing shows in every city and town. Now, too, war raged in Italy, powerful rulers
