And I own something he desperately wishes to have.
He still hadn’t told Karl about the tiny silver globe and its baleful contents—in part because he hadn’t made up his mind whether to give the globe to Tonio after all.
In exchange for my daughter.
“I think it’s quite enough for God’s representative on earth to be involved. The devil doesn’t need to be part of it also,” said Karl, shaking his head. “No, I believe Lahnstein wanted to strike you where it hurts the most. Greta is his revenge for what you did to him in Bamberg. He takes your daughter, but instead of killing her, he . . .” Karl closed his eyes, trying to focus. “Back at Tiffauges when I saw Greta for the last time, she was no prisoner. In hindsight it seems to me like she went with Lahnstein voluntarily. But why?”
“It’s no use.” Johann rose. “We must make inquiries. If need be, even among the papal staff. We must find out what became of Lahnstein. Perhaps he’s the key to all our questions.”
“That means risking attracting the attention of that horrible Hagen again,” said Karl. “This is their city, don’t forget.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Johann nodded glumly. “But it’s about the life of my daughter and the part I played in getting her here. I must right my wrongs no matter the risk.”
It took a few days for Johann to find his bearings in this city. He had been to many large cities before—Nuremberg, Augsburg, Venice—but Rome was different, inspiring and draining at once. Enormous ruins rose at every corner, the imposing Colosseum only one of many. Rome was like a wasteland where thousands of new blossoms sprouted from the earth. Under the rule of the last two popes especially, plentiful new and magnificent churches and palaces had been erected, but in between, the citizens continued to live in foul-smelling hovels. Johann soon noticed that vast parts of the city were barely inhabited. Once he left the larger streets and pilgrimage sites behind, the city became eerily quiet, like a moor or a forest. Since the water supply had broken down, some of the hills the city was built upon were practically deserted, beyond a few beggars and thieves. On the other hand, the quarter on the far bank of the Tiber and the area around Vatican Hill flourished, and a multitude of tradesmen and officials had settled there in the vicinity of the papal palaces.
Karl and Johann soon learned that it was nearly impossible to enter the Mons Vaticanus. It was surrounded by a high wall, and the gates were manned by Swiss guards. Cardinals and other high-ranking dignitaries came and went all the time, so Johann thought it possible that Viktor von Lahnstein, as papal representative, also lived within those walls. But where was Greta? How would they ever find out? The pope himself only rarely appeared in public. The next occasion wouldn’t be until All Saints’ Day at the start of November—more than four weeks from now.
Karl had taken up drawing again. He used every spare hour to roam the hills and capture with charcoal the many ruins, churches, and statues. In addition, he was working on a map to help them find their way through the labyrinth of Roman lanes. His map showed the city not from the side, as was customary, but from above—a technique Karl had learned from Leonardo da Vinci. During the daytime, they visited the various quarters among the hills, asking people in the streets and at pilgrims’ hostels about a blonde German girl named Greta, but without success. In the evening, they would sit over Karl’s map in silence, brooding, their hopes fading.
“If Greta went with Lahnstein voluntarily, then he had plans for her,” said Karl. “Then it would be likely that she’s somewhere near him.”
“Which would be on Vatican Hill.” Johann groaned and tapped his finger on the map. “It’s a huge area and well guarded.”
“So were the Nuremberg dungeons, and we still managed to get in,” said Karl. “Why shouldn’t we do it again?” He smiled. “You’re a wizard, remember?”
“I’m afraid my time as a great magician is over,” said Johann glumly. “I’m a drunk whose hands shake even doing the simplest card tricks.”
Increasingly, they went their separate ways. Karl liked to visit the wealth of churches, admiring the frescoes and altars, many of them created during the reign of the current pope. It was as if Leo X was trying to build not only a new basilica but an entire new city as a monument to himself—a city that was still laced with heathen beliefs.
“This morning, I went past the Mons Palatinus,” said Karl one evening as they sat together over bread, olives, and cheese. “There, some commoners still pray to Romulus and Remus.” He shook his head. “Allegedly, there are remains of a cave where the two brothers were nursed by a she-wolf. What a ridiculous notion!”
“Really?” Johann smiled. “Weren’t those brothers abandoned as infants and washed ashore in a willow basket on the banks of the Tiber? And didn’t Romulus kill his brother later on before founding Rome?”
“Yes, I think that’s how the story goes.” Karl frowned. “Why?”
“Well, Moses was also abandoned in a willow basket on a river, and Cain killed his brother, Abel. So, the one story is a ridiculous notion while the other is true belief? Where is the difference?”
“Debating with you is probably more exhausting than debating that Luther.”
“I’m not debating, merely posing questions,” replied Johann. “Just like the Greek philosopher Socrates used to do. Questions bring light to the darkness of the world.”
Unlike Karl, Johann avoided the churches. They offered no consolation to him; on the contrary. Whenever Johann stood before a crucifix, he thought he could feel the Savior’s sad eyes on him. At night, when Karl was asleep, Johann often took out the silver globe, wondering if he oughtn’t destroy its contents after all. If Tonio was the one who’d lured him to Rome, then the master would find
