"I shall see you tomorrow for your moment of glory, Bruno," he said, smiling. "Do not let anything throw you off the scent-but spare a charitable thought for me at dinner." He nodded in the direction of the palatine, who was complaining loudly to one of the university officials about the advanced state of his saddle sores. I would not be sorry to lose his company, though I was disappointed to be separated from Sidney. Tonight, however, I wished only to retire early and prepare myself for the public debate and knew I would not be best disposed for company; once the disputation was over and I had acquitted myself as best I could, I would be able to relax and enjoy the convivial atmosphere of the college hall, and turn my attention to my other missions.

The rector stood at the entrance to the narrow lane, his robe drenched, but smiling resolutely. I pulled up the collar of my cloak as we made our way between buildings for a few yards, until the wall on our left rose up into a squat rectangular tower of that same buttery-yellow stone. The rector pushed open a smaller wooden door the height of a man set into the heavy iron-studded timber of the high arched gateway and held it for me to pass through, followed by the servant who carried my bag.

"I'm afraid that here I must relieve you of your dagger, Doctor Bruno," he said, apologetically, lowering his eyes to the sheath at my side. "It is one of the first laws of Oxford that no man may carry weapons within the university precincts. We must have a care for our young men's persons as well as their minds and souls. Don't worry, we will keep it quite safe for you." He gave a self-conscious laugh as I reluctantly unstrapped the knife and handed it over.

I stepped past him through an archway that led beneath the tower to a neat quadrangle paved with flagstones. The buttressed range immediately opposite the gatehouse tower I guessed to be the college's hall, by its high mullioned windows and the smoke louvre in the centre of the roof. Ivy grew along the stonework there, though not on the ranges to my right and left. At the corners of each range in the quadrangle an archway led to a narrow passage. The rector appeared beside me and took off his sodden hat, passing a hand across his shiny pate.

"Forgive my appearance, Doctor Bruno-this sudden regression to winter has taken us all by surprise, and just as we thought summer on its way. But that is what you must expect in England, I'm afraid. You must long for the blue skies of your native land."

"At times, though, I must say that I find the weather of northern Europe suited to my temperament," I replied.

"Ah. You are of a melancholy humour, then?"

"Like all of us, Rector Underhill, I am a mixture of contradictory elements. Equal parts earth and fire, melancholy and choler, I fear. But it is more that warmth and blue skies stir the blood, do you not think? I find it easier to write when I am not tempted to other pursuits."

Underhill nodded doubtfully; he had the expression of a man whose blood had not been stirred in many years.

"You are right, it is hard to bend the students to study during the summer months. Now-I have arranged a room for you in the south range, where you will be adjacent to my own residence." Here he waved a hand at the mullioned bay windows next to the hall. "And directly opposite, across the quad, you will find our very fine library, which you must feel free to make use of at any time."

"Have you many books?" I asked, shaking the water from my cloak.

"Some of the finest of any college," he said, swelling with a pride I could forgive, since it was on behalf of his manuscripts. "Largely works of scholastic theology, but Dean Flemyng, the nephew of our founder, left as a bequest to the college a remarkable collection of literary and classical texts, many of which he copied in his own hand. He studied in Italy, you know, and brought many manuscripts back from the corners of Europe at the end of the last century," he added.

"Really? I should very much like to see your collection," I said, my pulse quickening. "Do you know if Dean Flemyng visited Florence at all during his travels? Around the 1460s?"

The rector gave a little swagger with his shoulders. "He certainly did-a number of books in our collection bear the inscription of the great Florentine bookseller Vespasiano da Basticci, dealer to Cosimo de' Medici, as I'm sure you know. Does this period particularly interest you?"

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my face neutral, and clasped my hands together so that their trembling would not betray my excitement.

"You know, every Italian scholar must be fascinated by Cosimo's library-at that time he had envoys travelling through all Europe and the Byzantine empire in search of undiscovered texts to augment his collection. I knew a descendant of Vespasiano once, in Paris," I added lightly. "I should be extremely interested to see which of these rare treasures Dean Flemyng brought back to Oxford with him, if I may."

Was it my imagination, or did the rector look slightly uncomfortable?

"Well, you must ask Master Godwyn, our librarian, to show you the collection-he will be delighted to share his knowledge, I'm sure. But for now you must be longing to change your clothes and take supper. And if you want to have a shave first"-here he cast a critical eye over my hair and beard-"we have a barber in the college. The porter will let you know where to find him. Usually the senior Fellows and I dine in hall with the undergraduates, but it is a noisy affair and for your first evening in Oxford I thought you might prefer something more sedate. Therefore I would like to invite you to join my family and a few select guests to dine in my own lodgings, which you see there next to the hall, abutting the south range."

"Your family?" I said, surprised. "You are not a bachelor, then?"

"We are no longer a community of clerics here in Oxford, Doctor Bruno," he said with a modest laugh. "Priests of the Church of England may marry-in fact, Her Majesty positively encourages them to do so, to further distinguish themselves from those of the Roman faith-and likewise for the heads of colleges here, though I admit we are still very much in the minority. I suspect it is not a life to tempt many wives-university society is somewhat limited for ladies-but my dear Margaret is a rare woman and professes to have been happy enough here these past six years, excepting-" Here he broke off and it was as if a cloud passed over his face, before he resumed, in a lighter tone. "She does not dine with us in hall, according to the regulations, so she is always delighted to be able to entertain guests in our own rooms. I shall go now and tell her you are arrived, and call a servant to show you to your room. Perhaps in an hour you would like to make your way over-just through that right-hand archway beside the hall and you will see a wooden door off the passage."

We had moved out from the shelter of the gatehouse arch to venture through the rain across the quadrangle when we were interrupted by an urgent cry.

"Rector! Rector Underhill-wait, I pray you!"

From the north side of the quadrangle a figure was running toward us, a tattered black scholar's gown fluttering behind him, with a paper in his hand which he brandished as if there were some imminent emergency. I noticed the rector's face set tight for a moment in annoyance. The young man slid to a halt in front of us on the wet flagstones, and I saw that he was perhaps twenty years of age and very shabbily dressed, his shirt and breeches patched and his shoes thin and worn through at the toe. He looked from me to the rector with an expression of great anxiety and said, breathlessly, " Rector Underhill, is this your esteemed visitor from the court? I beg you, give me leave to speak to him."

"Thomas"-the rector looked supremely irritated-"this is neither the time nor the place. Kindly show some decorum before our guest."