The man I had attacked now roared and lashed at me as I clung to his arm, diverting his blow, so that the servant was able to urge the horse forward, out of harm's way; another of them ran at me with a crude knife, just catching me on the leg as I tried to kick him away. Incensed, I dropped to the ground and struck out toward him with my own knife, but distracted by a movement from the corner of my eye, I whipped around just in time to see the larger man lifting his stick to aim it at me. I thrust the knife into the fleshy underside of his upper arm and he let out a howl of pain, his arm crumpling to his side as he clutched at the wound with his other hand. I took advantage of his lapse to drive my knife home again, this time into the hand that held the stick, which fell to the ground with a dull thud as I turned to face his friend, still holding his rusted knife toward me, though with less conviction now. Shouting curses in Italian, I lunged at him but feinted, so that, wrong-footed, he slipped in a rut and fell to the ground, still flailing at me with the knife. I kicked him hard in the stomach, then stood astride him as he lay, doubled over and groaning, my knife against his cheek.

"Drop your knife and get the hell back to where you came from," I hissed, "before I change my mind." Without a word, he stumbled to his feet, slipping again in his haste, and scurried away into the trees as a chilling scream rent the air; I looked up to see one of the men Sidney was fighting fall slowly to his knees as the poet withdrew his blade from deep in the man's side. The remaining assailant looked for a moment with horror at his friend's body slumped in the mud and scrambled for the undergrowth as fast as he could. Sidney wiped his sword on the wet grass by the side of the road and sheathed it, his breath ragged.

"Is he dead?"

Sidney gave a dismissive glance over his shoulder. "He'll live," he said, pressing his lips together. "Though he'll think twice before he tries that trick again. This road is notorious for outlaws, we should have been better prepared. You acquitted yourself well, Bruno," he added, turning to me in admiration. "Not bad for a man of God."

"I'm not sure God counts me as such any longer. But I did not spend three years on the run through Italy without learning to defend myself." I cleaned Paolo's knife on the wet grass, thanking my old friend silently for his foresight; it was not the first time this blade had kept me from danger.

Sidney nodded thoughtfully.

"Now that I remember-when we were in Padua, you mentioned you'd had some trouble over a fight in Rome." He looked at me expectantly, a half smile hovering on his lips.

I didn't answer immediately, turning the knife in my hands as the rain continued to course down my neck inside my collar. This was one of the darker moments in my fugitive past that I would prefer to bury. In England I wanted to be known as the eminent philosopher of the Parisian court, not the man who lived underground, pursued through Italy on suspicion of heresy and murder.

"In Rome, someone informed the Inquisition against me for money. But I had already fled the city when his body was found floating in the Tiber," I said, quietly.

Sidney gave a sly smile.

"And did you kill him?"

"The man was a notorious brawler, I understand. I am a philosopher, Philip, not an assassin," I replied, sheathing the knife at my belt.

"You are not a typical philosopher, Bruno, that much is certain. Well, I will hear more of this story later. I suppose we had better find the Pole," he said, suppressing a sigh.

The servant I had saved was still mounted, a little way ahead of us, holding with difficulty the reins of our two horses, who were stamping and snorting, their eyes rolling back in alarm; the other servant had taken a bad blow to the head as the robbers first sprang upon us, and he had to be helped back into his saddle, where he slumped forward and clung to the horse's neck, his eyes unfocused. Fortunately we had fought them off before they had been able to sever the straps binding the horses' panniers, but one hung precariously from its saddle and had to be retied before we could continue. We found the palatine cowering under a tree around the next bend. Sidney muttered an apology for the brutal interruption, though I could not help thinking that it was the Pole who should be apologising for his cowardice.

We rode on, bruised and bedraggled; though the cut on my thigh was only shallow, it stung as the wet cloth of my breeches chafed against it. I was more deeply shaken by the attack than I cared to let Sidney see; though it was true that my eventful life on the run had taught me how to keep my wits in a fight, I had spent the past year in soft living at King Henri's court, and my reactions felt slow and unpractised. The water drove relentlessly into my eyes and down my neck, and even when we reached the brow of Shotover Hill, which Sidney said should have afforded us a magnificent view over the city of Oxford, the curtain of rain all but obscured it from sight.

We descended toward the bridge that crossed the river by the college of St. Mary Magdalen and saw that a small crowd had gathered there; as we drew closer Sidney announced that this was the delegation of university dignitaries and aldermen waiting to greet us. A rider had gone out from Windsor that morning to notify those preparing for the palatine's visitation that we would not be arriving by river, but so much of the road had become waterlogged that our progress had been slow, and it seemed the poor welcoming party had been waiting for us for some time in the rain, which now dripped from their velvet caps and the sleeves of their black-and-scarlet gowns.

The vice-chancellor stepped forward and introduced himself, bowing low and kissing first the palatine's bejewelled hand and then Sidney 's. I saw his eyes widen at our bruised and dishevelled appearance, but he graciously made no mention of it. He explained that they would be guests at Christ Church College, the grandest of all the Oxford colleges and the one for which the queen herself had special charge; Sidney had himself been an undergraduate there, so it was natural that he should return. I was to be lodged separately, and here a round-faced, balding man stepped forward and extended his hand to me in the English fashion as he tried stoically to ignore the water streaming from the peak of his hat.

"Doctor Bruno-I am John Underhill, rector of Lincoln College. You are most welcome to Oxford, and I hope you will do us the honour of accepting our hospitality at the college."

"Thank you, I am very grateful."

"You and I are to be adversaries in the disputation tomorrow night and will face each other across the floor of the Divinity School, but I hope that until then, we may regard each other as friends." He smiled as he said this, but it died quickly on his lips.

So this was my Aristotelian opponent. He had a fussy air and there was something brittle about his expression of hospitality, but I was determined to make a good impression in Oxford, so I smiled broadly and shook his proffered hand.

"I certainly hope so too, Rector Underhill."

We entered the city through the east gate, a small barbican in the high walls that encircled the main body of the town, and as we passed under its battlements a concert of musicians struck up, their instruments sounding bravely through the noise of rain and wind. The palatine roused himself from his sulk just enough to wave unenthusiastically as our party progressed along the High Street past rows of little timber-framed houses, which gave way as we neared the centre to the ornate blond-stone facades of one or another of the colleges. Outside these stood groups of students of all degrees, decked out in their formal dress and shivering as they huddled under the eaves to salute us as we passed, flanked by the doctors and aldermen. At length we came to a halt beside a narrow street that turned off to the north, where I was informed I would depart with the rector. After I had dismounted and handed the care of my horse to a young groom, to be taken to the rector's private stables, I walked across to Sidney, who reached down and clasped my hand.