I thought through all that his words implied. “Did Master Johann cause the Mathematics Chair to be open? Did he cause Master Jacob to not be in it? And Gottlieb caused Master Grimm to leave the Logic Chair? And Daniel the Physics Chair, now? They caused those Chairs to be empty?”
“If a man is worthwhile to me to have a Chair, I will give him the Chair. But the Chair must first be open.”
“And Desiderius, also?”
“Daniel has this Chair,” Caiaphas said. “If the Physics Chair becomes open, you will have it.” He put his palms together, as if he was praying. “Do you accept the bargain?”
“If you give me the Chair, that I will serve your purposes. That is the bargain?”
“Yes, that is what I offer.”
“Then I accept,” I said. An image came to me, from a week earlier. “I saw a chase,” I said. “A white horse in pursuit of a black.”
“What do you mean?” This confused him. “What chase? What horse?”
“The white horse was swifter. And Daniel was too heavy a burden. I did see it.”
“You see what doesn’t exist,” he said, perplexed by my words, but very sure of his.
“It does,” I said. “I know what exists. Please help me find my way out of this cellar, Gustavus. I’m not sure I can.”
“Come with me.”
I did come with him. I only seemed to find myself farther in and more deeply lost. We passed corners and traversed passages, all so dimly lit as if the lanterns and torches were only part in these halls and a greater part in the halls of some other inn. That other inn might have been the one I knew. I didn’t know this one. All I could do was follow Gustavus.
The walls and rafters ended and I was out in the Square. I must have been. The sky and stars were above me and I saw the front of the Inn, but I didn’t see the Barefoot Church across the paving stones. In the dark I started toward home.
But it was so dark that I could hardly find my way through the Square. It seemed endless. Finally I stopped to gain my bearings. While I stood, in the pitch black, there was an abrupt galloping, from nowhere. I couldn’t find its source but it was coming onto me. I would have run but it was in every direction.
In an instant I threw myself to the stones and an iron hoof clove the air just over me. The horse reared and I threw myself again away from it and the shoes came down just where I’d been.
“Stop!” I cried and I scrambled back.
“What? Who’s that?” Daniel’s laugh rang over me. “Leonhard?”
“It is Leonhard,” I said.
“In the dark!” It sounded at least like Daniel. I couldn’t see him “Well, get out of the Square if you don’t want to be run over!”
“I am. It was dark.”
“The more reason to not wander! Home with you!”
“Yes,” I said. “I will. I am.” Even still on both hands and feet I fled the horse and voice until I finally reached the end of the Square, and found a street.
Then I was at my grandmother’s door and I went into a dark hall, though I seemed to smell the stables and see the red torches of the inn. I found stairs to my room.
And finally, I was in my bed, without memory of getting into it, still dressed. My candle was low on my desk and its gentle yellow glow told me I was fully home again, almost as if I’d never left.
I stayed close by my grandmother all of Sunday, as we two together were stronger than either apart. I kept away from the inn as I always did on the holy day. We didn’t talk much, only necessary words.
The sermon at Saint Leonhard’s had been concise and thorough, on God’s perfection: His own, and that of all He has created. Because of our imperfection, he provided a sacrifice to restore us.
I would deliver that message of perfection to the University. All Physics and all Mathematics were His creation. Mathematics was His command to the Universe. It was an important message and it was necessary that I should give it. It was important that I have a position whereby I could speak these truths, and that the academic universe would be attentive.
That night I wrote out my lecture. Writing was work, which wasn’t meant for the Sabbath, but it was contemplation of Deity, which was proper.
I wrote late into the night, which I often did, though never before on a Sunday.
There were many things to consider. I had to remember the opinions of the men who would sit under my lecture. It would be the first public statement of my own beliefs, and every word I spoke would be examined in the light of the controversies and disagreements of the day.
To lecture to this University, I must know to frown at mention of Descartes and harrumph at even the thought of Newton, who in Basel was a usurper and cad. All the while, though, I knew that their Mathematics and Physics were pure as light and water.