The Mammoth Book of Alternate Histories (93 page)

“And the Church would not have been able to cow those thinkers who followed Galileo. You’re a historian of natural philosophy; you must see the pattern. Before Galileo you had thinkers like Bacon, Leonardo, Copernicus, Kepler ... It was a grand explosion of ideas. Galileo’s work drew together and clarified all these threads - he wrote on atomism, you know. His work could have been the foundation of a revolution in thinking. But after him, comparatively speaking - nothing! Do you know that Isaac Newton the alchemist was working on a new mechanics, building on Galileo? If the Church had had not been able to impeach Newton, who knows what he might have achieved?”

“And all this because the Church
spared
Galileo.”

“Yes! I know it’s a paradox. We suspect the Church made the wise choice by accident...”

Mary had a basic sympathy for his position. But she had a gut feeling that history was more complex than this young man imagined. If Galileo’s trial had gone ahead, would the work the old man completed later in life have been curtailed? It might have taken centuries more to discover relativity . . .

Anselm clearly had no room in his head for such subtleties. “It would have been better if Galileo had been a martyr! Then all men would have seen the Church for what it is.”

Saying this, he seemed very young to Mary. “And now,” she said carefully, “you want to use this Darwin trial to create a new martyr. Hmm. How old is Alicia Darwin?”

“Just twenty.”

“Does she
know
she’s to become some kind of token martyr for your cause?” When he hesitated, she pressed, “You produced her as the family representative for this trial, didn’t you? What’s your relationship with her?”

“We are lovers,” he said defiantly. “Oh, it is chaste, Lector, don’t worry about that. But she would do anything for me - and I for her.”

“Would she be your lover if she weren’t Darwin’s grand-niece? And I ask you again: does she
know
what she’s letting herself in for?”

He held her gaze, defiant. “The Lyncean Academy is ancient and determined. If the Church has a long memory, so do we. And I hope, I pray, that you, Lector, if the need arises, will use your considerable authority in that courtroom tomorrow to ensure that the
right
verdict is reached.” He glanced around. “It’s nearly noon. Care for some lunch?”

“No thanks,” she said, and she walked sharply away.

* * * *

On Thursday 12 February, Darwin’s 200th anniversary, the final session of the hearing was held in another subterranean room, burrowed out of the London clay beneath St Paul’s.

At least this was a grander chamber, Mary thought, its walls panelled with wood, its floor carpeted, and a decent light cast by a bank of electric bulbs. But this was evidently for the benefit of the eight cardinals who had come here to witness the final act of the trial. Sitting in their bright vestments on a curved bench at the head of the room, they looked oddly like gaudy Australasian birds, Mary thought irreverently.

Before them sat the court officials, led by Boniface Jones and completed by the earnest clerk with the rapidly scratching pen. The scribes from the chronicles scribbled and sketched. Anselm Fairweather, sitting away from his client-lover, looked excited, like a spectator at some sports event. Mary could see no guards, but she was sure they were present, ready to act if Alicia dared defy the will of this court. That ghastly coffin stood on its trestles.

And before them all, dressed in a penitent’s white robe and with her wrists and ankles bound in chains, stood Alicia Darwin.

“I can’t believe I volunteered for this farce,” Mary muttered to Xavier Brazel. “I haven’t contributed a damn word. And look at that wretched child.”

“It is merely a formality,” Xavier said. “The robe is part of an ancient tradition which—”

“Does the authority of a 2,000-year-old Church really rely on humiliating a poor bewildered kid?”

He seemed faintly alarmed. “You must not be seen to be disrespecting the court, Mary.” He leaned closer and whispered, “And whatever Anselm said to you I’d advise you to disregard it.”

She tried to read his handsome, impassive face. “You choose what to hear, don’t you? You have a striking ability to compartmentalize. Maybe that’s what it takes to survive in your world.”

“I only want what is best for the Church - and for my friends, among whom I would hope to count you.”

“We’ll see about that at the end of this charade, shall we?”

As before Jones began proceedings with a rap of a gavel; the murmuring in the room died down. Jones faced Alicia. “Alicia Darwin, daughter of James Paul Darwin of Edinburgh. Kneel to hear the clerical condemnation, and the sentence of the Holy See.”

Alicia knelt submissively.

Jones picked up a sheet of paper and began to read in his sonorous Latin. Xavier murmured a translation for Mary.

“Whereas he, the deceased Charles Robert, son of Robert Waring Darwin of London, was in the year 1859 denounced by the Holy Office for holding as true the false doctrine taught by some that the species of living things that populate the Earth are mutable one into the other, in accordance with a law of chance and selection, and in defiance of the teaching of the divine and Holy Scripture that all species were created by the Lord God for His purpose, and having published a book entitled
A Dialogue on the Origin of Species by Natural Selection.
Whereas he the said Darwin did fail to respect an injunction issued by the Holy Congregation held before his eminence the Lord Cardinal Joseph McInnery on 14 December 1859 to amend the said work to ensure an appropriate balance be given to argument and counter-argument concerning the false doctrine ...”

The Commissary’s pronouncements went on and on, seeming to Mary to meld into a kind of repetition of the details of the previous session. It struck her how little thought had been applied to the material presented to this court, how little analysis had actually been done on the charges and the evidence, such as they were. The sheer anti-intellectual nature of the whole proceedings offended her.

And Alicia, kneeling, was rocking slightly, her face blanched, as if she might faint. The reality of the situation seemed to be dawning on her, Mary thought. But with a sinking heart she thought she saw a kind of stubborn determination on Alicia’s face.

At last Boniface seemed to be reaching the end of his peroration. “
Therefore, involving the most Holy name of Our Lord Jesus Christ and His most glorious Mother, ever Virgin Mary, and sitting as a tribunal with the advice and counsel of the Reverend Masters of Sacred Theology and Doctors of both laws, we say, pronounce, sentence and declare that he, Charles Darwin, had rendered himself according to this Holy Office vehemently suspect of heresy, having held and believed a doctrine that is false and contrary to the divine and Holy Scripture, namely the doctrine known as “natural selection “. Consequently, he has incurred all the censures and penalties enjoined and promulgated by the sacred Canons and all particular and general laws against such delinquents.

“For adhering to the doctrine of the Origin of Species, let Darwin be anathema.”

The chroniclers scribbled, excited; Mary imagined the telegraph wires buzzing the next day to bring the world the news that Charles Darwin had been formally, if posthumously, excommunicated.

But Alicia still knelt before the panel. The clerk came forward, and handed her a document. “A prepared statement,” Xavier whispered to Mary. “She’s not on trial herself, not under any suspicion. She’s here to represent Darwin’s legacy. All she has to do is read that out and she’ll be free to go.”

Alicia, kneeling, her voice small in the room before the rows of churchmen, began to read: “I, Alicia Rosemary Darwin, daughter of James Paul Darwin of Edinburgh, arraigned personally at this tribunal and kneeling before you, most Eminent and Reverend Lord Cardinals, Inquisitors General against heretical depravity throughout the whole Christian Republic ...” She fell silent and read on rapidly. “You want me to say the
Origin of Species
was heretical. And to say my uncle deliberately defied the order to modify it to remove the heresy. And to say I and all my family abjure his memory and all his words for all time.”

Boniface Jones’ gravel-like voice sounded almost kind. “Just read it out, child.”

She put the papers down on the floor. “I will not.”

And this was the moment, Mary saw. The moment of defiance Anselm had coached into her.

There was uproar.

* * * *

The chroniclers leaned forward, trying to hear, to be sure what Alicia had said. Anselm Fairweather was standing, the triumph barely disguised on his face. Even the cardinals were agitated, muttering to one another.

Only Boniface Jones sat silent and still, a rock in the storm of noise. Alicia continued to kneel, facing him.

When the noise subsided Boniface gestured at the clerk. “Don’t record this. Child - Alicia. You must understand.
You
have not been on trial here. The heresy was your distant uncle’s. But if you defy the will of the tribunal, if you refuse to read what has been given to you, then the crime becomes yours. By defending your uncle’s work you would become heretical yourself.”

“I don’t care.” She poked at the paper on the floor, pushing it away. “I won’t read this. My family doesn’t “abjure” Charles Darwin. We honour him. We’re not alone. Why, the Reverend Dawkins said only recently that natural selection is the best hypothesis anybody ever framed ...”

Mary whispered to Xavier, “And I wonder who put that in her mouth?”

“You mean Anselm Fairweather.”

“You know about him?”

“He’s hardly delicate in his operations.”

“This is exactly what Anselm and his spooky friends want, isn’t it? To have this beautiful kid throw herself to the flames. Smart move. I can just imagine how this will play back home.”

Xavier frowned. “I can hear how angry you are. But there’s nothing you can do.”

“Isn’t there?”

“Mary,
this is the Inquisition.
You can’t defy it. We can only see how this is going to play out.”

His words decided her. “Like hell.” She stood up.

“What are you doing?”

“Injecting a little common sense from Terra Australis, that’s what.” Before Xavier could stop her she strode forward. She tried to look fearless, but it was physically difficult to walk past the angry faces of the cardinals, as if she was the focus of God’s wrath.

She reached the bench. Boniface Jones towered over her, his face like thunder. Alicia knelt on the floor, the pages of the statement scattered before her.

Anselm was hovering, desperate to approach. Mary pointed at him. “You - stay away.” She reached out a hand to Alicia. “Stand up, child. Enough’s enough.”

Bewildered, Alicia complied.

Mary glared up at Boniface. “May I address the bench?”

“Do I have a choice?” Boniface asked dryly.

Mary felt a flicker of hope at that hint of humour. Maybe Boniface would prove to be a realist. “I hope we all still have choices, Father. Look, I know I’m from the outside here. But maybe we can find a way to get out of this ridiculous situation with the minimum harm done to anybody - to this girl, to the Church.”

Alicia said, “ I don’t want your help. I don’t care what’s done to me—”

Mary faced her. “I know you never spoke to me before in your life. But just listen, if you don’t want to die in prison, serving the dreams of your so-called lover.”

Alicia frowned, and glanced at Anselm.

Mary turned to Boniface. “This is a spectacle. A stunt, so the Church can show its muscles. Even death doesn’t put an enemy out of your reach, right? So you dug up poor Darwin here and excommunicated him posthumously. But in your wisdom, and I use the word loosely, you decided even that wasn’t enough. You wanted more. But it’s all unravelling. Can’t you see, Commissary, if you prosecute this innocent kid for being loyal to her family, how much harm you will do to the Church’s image - even in your home territories, and certainly outside? You should come visit Cooktown some time. Imagine how this would play out there. If you punish this girl, you’ll be doing precisely what your enemies want you to do.”