Giordano Bruno Thriller Series Books 1-3: Heresy, Prophecy, Sacrilege. S. J. Parris
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shift for myself, perhaps it has made me unfit for a settled life with a wife and family.’
‘That is sad. But I’m sure you would not be short of admirers here, Bruno. No Englishman has eyes like yours.’
I was so surprised by this compliment that I could not think of an immediate reply. Sophia looked embarrassed and hastily turned her attention back to the fire.
‘You have travelled so much, you cannot imagine how envious I am. You must have had many adventures. I have not left Oxford in six years. Sometimes I feel so restless,’ she poked the fire vigorously, ‘I fear I shall never see anything of the world, unless I can make some dramatic change happen. Oh, sometimes I just want to shake this life I have into pieces! Do you ever feel like that?’ She looked at me earnestly, her eyes full of feeling.
‘Certainly. I spent thirteen years of my youth in a monastery – I knew more about restlessness and that desire for new horizons than anyone. But be careful what you wish for, Sophia. I have also learned that adventure is not always something to seek for its own sake. You don’t realise the value of a home until you no longer have one,’ I added quietly.
‘My father said you lived at the court of King Henri in Paris – you must have met many beautiful ladies of fashion there, I suppose?’
‘There were beautiful faces, certainly, and many beautiful costumes, but I never found much beauty of mind at court.’
‘Still, I expect you dazzled them all with your ideas,’ Sophia said, her eyes reflecting the crackling flames.
‘I don’t know that my ideas were of much interest to the ladies at court.’ I gave her a rueful smile. ‘Few women there cared to read or trouble themselves with ideas. Most of them had little grasp even of the politics of their own city, and I’m afraid I could never feign interest in a woman whose conversation is limited to court gossip and fashions. I am too intolerant of stupidity.’
She sat up then, looking at me with curiosity.
‘Then you would value in a woman the capacity to form her own opinions and express them?’
‘Of course, if they are well informed. Otherwise she is no more than an ornament, however lovely. Better to buy a painting if you just want something beautiful in a corner of your parlour. And a painting’s value increases with age.’
Sophia smiled and shook her head.
‘You are not like most Englishmen, Bruno. But then I saw that when I first met you. My father assures me that no man values a strong mind in a woman, and that if I want a husband I would do well to smile prettily and keep my thoughts to myself.’
‘Then his understanding of his fellow men is as wrong-headed as his cosmology.’
She laughed then, but it was not reflected in her eyes.
‘And your inamorato?’ I prompted. ‘What does he value?’ When she did not answer, I continued, ‘because I cannot believe that a young woman so favoured by nature should even need to consider magical arts to secure any man’s affection. With the greatest respect, I can only imagine that your inamorato is either blind or an idiot.’
‘There is no inamorato,’ she snapped, folding her arms across her chest and turning pointedly away from me. ‘Don’t make fun of me, Bruno. I had thought you were different.’
‘Forgive me.’ I poured another glass of wine and sat back, stifling a smile. If she wanted to confide in me, I reasoned, she would do so in her own time. We sat in silence for a while, with only the spitting of the logs and the lulling rhythm of the flames for company.
‘To answer your question, Agrippa had his knowledge of practical magic from an ancient manuscript known in Europe by the name of Picatrix,’ I began, to break the silence when it appeared that she was not going to speak. ‘Its true name is the Ghayat al Hakim, the Goal of the Wise, and it was transcribed by the Arabs of Harran about four hundred years ago. In fact, it is a translation of a much older work, from before the destruction of Egypt, thought to be inspired by Hermes Trismegistus himself.’ I paused to take a sip of wine, confident that I had now won back her attention; she was staring at me, rapt, her chin cupped in her hands. ‘This book is forbidden by the Church of Rome and has never been printed – it would be too dangerous to do so – but it was translated into Spanish at the order of King Alfonso the Wise and then into Latin, so for some years there have been a small number of manuscript copies in circulation. One of these was imported in secret to Paris by King Henri ten years ago. He has a fancy for collecting obscure books of esoterica, but he does not know how to use them once he has them.’
‘And you have read it?’ she asked, also in a whisper, leaning in eagerly.
‘His Majesty eventually allowed me to see the manuscript, after I solemnly swore that I would not copy any part of it. He apparently forgot that I am one of the foremost practitioners of the art of memory in all of Europe.’ I allowed myself a modest smile; Sophia ignored it.
‘So what is in this Picatrix?’ she demanded.
‘It is a manual of astral magic, a treatise on the art of drawing down the powers that animate the stars and planets by means of talismans and images.’ I lowered my voice even further and glanced round to check that the door was closed. ‘It works on the principle that the infinite diversity of matter in the universe is all interconnected, part of One Unity, animated by the Divinity, so the adept with the requisite knowledge can create links between the elements of the natural world and the celestial powers to which they correspond.’
Sophia frowned.
‘But how does it work?’ she insisted.
‘You are determined to know,’ I said, smiling. ‘Well, for example – suppose you wanted, for the sake of argument, to secure the love of another person.’ I watched her reaction; her cheeks were flushed and her lips slightly parted in anticipation, but she held my gaze almost defiantly. ‘Then you need to capture the power of the planet Venus, so you must know what plants, stones and metals belong to the influence of Venus. You would also need to learn the most powerful images of Venus, and inscribe these on a talisman made from the appropriate materials, on a day and hour most conducive to the astrological influence of Venus, with the correct invocations, names and numbers – you see it is immensely complex.’
‘Can you teach me?’ she whispered.
‘Do you know what you are asking?’ I responded, dropping my voice even further. ‘For me to teach you what many consider diabolical sorcery – do you know what the risk would be? Besides, I must confess that I have never attempted to use this practical magic – my interest has always been in the hieratic, intellectual element. But Sophia,’ I spread my palms out wide, an advocate of common sense, ‘if the object of your affection does not return it, would it not be simpler just to set your sights elsewhere?’
She reached across and laid her hand on mine for a moment, a sad smile hovering at her lips.
‘Yes, it would be simpler,’ she agreed, in a soft voice. ‘But the heart does not always listen to reason, does it? You should know, Bruno.’
I looked at her for a long time then as my own heart lurched unexpectedly and I realised that I was in serious danger of growing attached to this thoughtful, spirited young woman with the fiery eyes. I could not tell whether she was attracted to me or saw me only as someone who would listen and take her seriously; in the same moment I felt a sudden unreasonable jealousy that all this depth of feeling on her part might be wasted on a peacock like Gabriel Norris.
I was wondering whether to question her on that scrap of hearsay, and how to broach the subject, when an unmistakable thud was heard outside the door on the other side of the study, as if someone on the other side had lost his footing and stumbled into the jamb. Sophia snatched her hand away, threw her chair back and leapt to her feet, glaring angrily at the door, but as she took a step towards it her legs suddenly buckled under her and she gave a little cry, grasping at the chair to keep her balance. Alarmed, I jumped up and held out an