The BookAnna Szyling meets the astronomer Georgius Rheticus at a tavern in Frombork, a town in northern Poland on the Baltic Sea. The year is 1543.
"Yes, finally. Including a foreword, unsigned, by Osiander."
The tavern keeper, often host to their rendezvous, cast a knowing glance.
His young son slowly turned the spit over a sizzling fire. The room
smelled of beer, wood smoke, and burning grease. A few patrons sat drinking
or awaiting the evening meal. Georgius spread both hands on the book and gazed at her. "I'm
in a quandary. Is it your beauty or your courage that impresses me most?"
His anxiety had mounted as she defied the bishop, both in securing the
book and remaining in Frombork. "In the end," she said, "the printer seemed glad to
release it, after thirteen years of indecision. He could assemble others,
though, from hidden sheets." "Excellent." He continued to gaze into her warm brown eyes,
thinking she was just as beautiful at thirty-four as when they had met
six years ago. Well-educated, the daughter of an acclaimed artisan,
she served the master for little more than honor. Georgius untied the cord and removed the cover. But now he muttered,
"Osiander must have done this. De Revolutionibus with the
added Orbium Coelestium translates On the Revolution of the
Heavenly Spheres." "So?" "That excludes the Earth, which isn't considered a heavenly sphere.
Our self-appointed editor goes too far." (He saw connivance in
Bishop Dantyszek's confirmation of Andreas Osiander's role.) "And the unsigned foreword," said Anna. "Wouldn't you
assume the master wrote it?" "Of course. And I see the words 'theory,' 'hypothesis,' where
clearly these pages contain proof." For Anna, there was no need
to add: proof that the Sun, not the Earth, is the center of our planetary
system. "My heart, we must hasten to get it to him. Since you saw him
last, he has taken a turn for the worse: paralyzed on his right side,
his fine mind clouded. If the bishop finds out, he may pay a dutiful
visit. Who knows, he might even seize the book. And he must not find
me there." Both knew that the bishop's poisonous letters had forced the master
to discharge her, that she had sent a trunk to Gdansk in pretense of
leaving town. There was no telling what Dantyszek, once known as "King
of Banquests and Carouses," would do next as the sanctimonious
Bishop of Warmia. She had glimpsed, "Be rid of her, whether concubine
or servant, lest her loose ways tempt the other canons." As if
her years of housework for the master had been spent warming his bed! Enemies everywhere. Through politics, ideology, or envy, many who had
offered their aid Osiander, the bishop, his toady the vicar
had proved false. And all closing in now, with the great work primed
to blaze forth and radically change man's view of the cosmos and his
own importance. Could certain egos bear to be so diminished? Anna was determined to do all she could to brighten the master's last
hours. She had summoned his brother and sisters, the savants who revered
him, the rich uncle who had sent him to the world-renowned Krakow Academy.
They would visit or send condolences. And loyal Georgius would be at
his side. She recalled how Georgius had copied the entire manuscript
in Latin over ten grueling weeks. Without his brilliant introductory
pamphlet, would a major Nuremberg publisher have accepted the book?
Georgius retied the package and held Anna's coat, anticipating the
meeting and, later, a long-awaited night with his love. They slipped
out and headed for the tower in which Nicolaus Copernicus, soon to be
hailed as having "stopped the Sun and moved the Earth," dwelt,
dreamt, and explored the skies.
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