"Will you stay and drink with us?" he continued eagerly, already reaching into his purse for coins. "Hie, girl-over here!" he called, gesturing imperiously at Lizzy. "My friends plan to try and wrest some of that money from me at a few hands of bone-ace, but I am unbeaten yet this term. Are you a gambling man, Sir Philip? How about you, Doctor Bruno?"

I held up my hands in apology, but I saw the light of adventure spark in Sidney 's eyes, and he rubbed his hands together, shunting over on the bench to make room for Norris.

"Philosophers are notoriously bad at cards," Sidney said, waving a hand at me to move over and make room for Norris's friends beside me.

"All the more reason for Doctor Bruno to stay and join our game," Norris said, smiling widely at me. He reached into his doublet and drew out a pack of cards, which he proceeded to shuffle expertly with the ease of long practice. I realised with a prickle of discomfort why he bothered me: it was not so much that I resented the hearty backslapping bonhomie of English upper-class gentlemen, for I could tolerate it well enough in Sidney on his own. It was the way Sidney fell so easily into this strutting group of young men, where I could not, and the fear that he might in some ways prefer their company to mine. Once again, I felt that peculiar stab of loneliness that only an exile truly knows: the sense that I did not belong and never would again.

Norris snapped the pack against the flat of his hand and began swiftly to deal three cards to each player, two facedown and one faceup.

"Shall we put in a shilling each to begin? If you hope to hold on to any of your money, Tobie," he remarked to the dark-haired young man seated opposite, "you had better start praying to Saint Bernardino of Siena, the patron saint of gamblers, for I am feeling lucky today."

"Praying to saints, Gabe?" said the young man named Tobie with a sly grin, picking up his cards and considering them. "Do not let anyone overhear you encouraging that, or they will think you gone over to Rome."

Norris snorted.

"I speak in jest, you dull-wit. Gentlemen should never debate theology at the card table. But am I not right, Doctor Bruno, that your countryman is said to intercede for gamblers? By those who believe that kind of folly," he added, throwing a handful of coins into the middle of the table.

"Actually, in Italy, he is more renowned for his tirades against sodomites," I replied, rising from the table. Norris looked up sharply from his hand and regarded me with interest.

"Is that so?"

"He lamented that in the last century the Italians were famed throughout Europe as the greatest nation of sodomites."

"And are you?" he asked, a smile twitching at the edge of his mouth.

"We are the greatest nation at everything, my friend," I said, returning the half smile.

"Bruno spent most of his life inside a monastery," Sidney said, leaning over to dig Norris in the ribs. "He should know."

The group fell into raucous laughter then as Lizzy slapped two large pitchers of ale down on the table. I decided it was time to leave.

"Well, I will leave you to rob one another with the blessing of Saint Bernardino," I said, attempting to sound lighthearted. "I have more pressing business."

"Bruno must reorder the cosmos before five o'clock," Sidney said, though he was intent on the cards he held.

"We are all most eager to hear it," Norris said, his head still bent to his cards, then he flung down an ace of diamonds with a great cry of triumph and swept all the coins from the table as the others exploded in a riot of cursing. None of them looked up as I left.

The Divinity School was the most breathtaking building I had yet seen in Oxford. Inside its high wooden doors a magnificent fan-vaulted ceiling of blond stone arched over a plainly furnished room perhaps ninety feet long, bathed in natural light from the ten great arched windows that reached from floor to ceiling the full length of the room, so that the north and south walls seemed almost entirely of glass. These windows were surmounted by elegant tracery and their panes decorated with designs of coloured shields and heraldic devices of benefactors and university dignitaries, according to the custom. From the supporting arches at the top of the windows the ribs of the vault fanned out in symmetrical patterns across the ceiling before dovetailing again in points decorated with elaborately carved bosses and pendants inset with statues, drawing the eye constantly upward and inward to the centre. There was a pungent smell of warm wax from the plentiful candles, lamps, and torches that had been set blazing along the walls, and their light was welcome despite the grand windows, for the sky was still overcast and the day already fading. At the west end of the hall a stage had been erected and high-backed chairs set with plump velvet cushions placed there for the most eminent persons-the palatine sat in the centre, with Sidney on his left and the vice-chancellor in his ermine-trimmed robes on his right, their chairs surrounded by the other university dignitaries in their crimson-and-black gowns and the velvet caps of professors, ranged according to their degree. Below this, tiered seating had been built facing the length of the hall toward the east doorway, and was now filled with the figures of senior men in Fellows' gowns, while in the second of the five grand bays from the west end, two carved wooden pulpits were set opposite each other on the north and south walls, where Rector Underhill and I now prepared to take up our positions for the confrontation.

Further to the eastern end, rows of low benches had been set out for the undergraduates, who were even now still pouring into the hall, jostling and shoving one another to take their places amid a great murmur of animated conversation. For a moment my stomach tightened as I mounted the steps to the lectern that was to be my platform for the next hour, but as I cast my eyes over the expectant rows of faces I was buoyed again by the old thrill of public performance, my first in England, and found I was anticipating the coming debate just as a sportsman might relish the challenge of a good fencing match.

I glanced at the stage to my left and caught Sidney 's eye; he winked encouragement. The palatine slumped next to him, legs akimbo, picking his teeth with his thumbnail and examining whatever he extracted with more interest than he seemed prepared to devote to the coming argument. I noticed Coverdale, Slythurst, and Bernard sitting in the centre of the second row. Coverdale cast only a brief glance at me with complete composure, while Slythurst allowed his cold gaze to slide over me before pointedly turning away. Bernard cracked his bony hands together and nodded to me once; I chose to interpret this as encouragement. Rector Underhill climbed his podium opposite and leaned forward over his lectern, fixing me with a combative stare. A stillness fell on the assembled crowd. I cleared my throat.

EARLIER THAT AFTERNOON, at a quarter to five, a student had been sent to escort me to the Divinity School from my chamber, a stocky and sensible-looking undergraduate with dark hair who introduced himself as Lawrence Weston and explained that the rector, who had gone on ahead, had sent him to show me the way to the place of our disputation. This seemed a courteous gesture, and I followed young Weston across the quadrangle to the tower gatehouse. As we drew nearer, I noticed two servants coming from the tower-room staircase hefting a large wooden chest between them; behind them followed another, his arms laden with books.

"They are clearing Doctor Mercer's belongings already?" I asked Weston, trying not to reveal the alarm in my voice. The boy shrugged, as if the matter were not his to question.