"No," I said, nodding sincerely.

"No. Well, he was arrested for the books and some witnesses popped up to say they'd heard him speak treasonable words against the queen. But it was during his trial the terrible business happened. He was brought to the Shire Hall, just outside the prison wall, with all the other prisoners to be tried before the lord high sheriff and the lord chief baron. Naturally he was found guilty, and just at the moment his sentence was pronounced, the courtroom was filled by the most foul stench you could imagine, such that everyone in the room thought as how they might choke or faint with it."

He paused again for refreshment, and I found myself jigging impatiently on the edge of my stool.

"And then?"

"Well, now, you will hardly credit this but I know folk who saw it with their own eyes, Doctor Bruno," Cobbett whispered, his own eyes growing wide with the momentum of his story. "Every man on that jury died within a few days. Not only them, but every man jack in that courtroom, all of them, stone dead before a week was out. The sheriff, the baron, the serjeants-all of them. Three hundred men died in Oxford in the course of a month. Then it was all over as quick as it come. But, here's the thing." He leaned in even closer, so that his chin was almost in his beer. "Not a one of the prisoners who was in the Assize that day died, nor any woman nor child. Now you can't tell me that was any natural plague."

"A curse, then?"

"The curse of Rowland Jenkes," Cobbett said, reverently. "While he was locked up, awaiting the Assize, he was permitted to walk out with a keeper, you understand. Well, the story goes Jenkes visited an apothecary with a list of ingredients. The apothecary noted they were all mightily poisonous, and asked why he had need of them-Jenkes replied it was on account of the rats gnawing at his books in the shop while he was incarcerated, see? Anyhow, he procured these ingredients and it's thought he made a wick covered in this filthy potion, and fired it up the moment he was condemned."

"Where would a condemned prisoner hide a tinderbox and flint about his person in a courtroom?" I asked. "Is it not more likely it was some gaol fever brought in by the prisoners?"

Cobbett looked disappointed that I had not entered into the spirit of the legend.

"Well, I don't know about that, sir. All I know is good Christian folk cross the road if they see Rowland Jenkes in this town, and if you know what's good for you, you'll do the same."

"What about the seditious books? Is he still in that trade?"

"Who knows what he does, sir-I told you, everyone leaves him alone now. I dare say he gets up to all sorts, but what jury would dare bring him to trial now?"

He refilled his cup and made a show of offering to pour some for me, but was clearly pleased at my refusal.

"What was his punishment?" I asked.

"Nailed by the ears to the pillory," Cobbett said with relish. "And you know what he did?"

I had already guessed, but didn't want to deprive him of this part of the story, so I shook my head and looked expectant.

"Stayed there an hour, he did. Then one of his acquaintance brought a knife, and calm as you like, he cut his own ears off in front of all the gathered townsfolk and walked free. They said he didn't even cry out. Left his ears still hanging on the post, if you can imagine."

I winced; Cobbett nodded sagely.

"That's the kind of man Rowland Jenkes is. Don't get mixed up with that lot, Doctor Bruno."

"Which lot? Do you mean the Catherine Wheel Inn?"

Cobbett stared at me as if I had cursed his entire family to his face. "Christ alive-what have you been up to, Doctor Bruno? Seriously, sir, even mentioning the name of that place will bring you trouble."

"How do you mean?" I said, thinking that to play the ignorant foreigner might serve me best here.

"Listen." Cobbett dropped his voice to a whisper and beckoned me closer. "Folk that go to the Catherine Wheel don't go there for the food or the beer, if you take my meaning."

"I have learned that much for myself," I said, with feeling. "But do you know if any of the Fellows or students of Lincoln might ever go there?"

Cobbett narrowed his eyes, sucked in his jowly cheeks, and considered me for a moment, as if weighing up how much he should reveal to this funny, nosy outsider. He seemed about to answer, when the door to the lodge was flung open and Rector Underhill strode in, his gown billowing about him. Surprise flickered briefly over his face at the sight of his guest drinking beer with the porter, but he composed himself quickly and smiled.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Bruno," he said, warily polite. "Cobbett, I wondered if you might have seen anything of Doctor Coverdale today? It seems he is not to be found anywhere, but he gave me no warning that he would be away."

"I've not seen hide nor hair of him, sir, not since last night," Cobbett said, moving the bottle and cups to the floor under his chair, rather too late to hide them from the rector's notice.

Underhill flared his nostrils in irritation.

"Well, the moment you see him pass through that gate, would you kindly tell him to come straight to my room, I wish to speak to him urgently."

"Will do, sir," Cobbett said dutifully.

"Might I have a brief word with you outside, Doctor Bruno?" Underhill said, turning to me with a pointed glare.

"Certainly." I rose with some effort from the rickety stool, nodded to Cobbett, who sent me a broad wink in return, and followed the rector into the tower archway.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't encourage the servants to drink while they are at work. That one in particular needs no help." He pursed his lips. I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to forestall me. "I hope you will join us for supper in hall tonight? We are all rather subdued since the death of poor Roger and your presence would certainly enliven high table."

"Thank you, I would be delighted," I replied, matching his tone of polite insincerity.

"Good. We dine at half past six, but you will hear the bell, I'm sure."

Before he disappeared into the archway by the hall that led to his lodgings, I called him back.

"Rector Underhill? I was wondering-I went for a walk this morning, after chapel, to get some air and admire your beautiful city better."

He folded his hands and watched me warily. "I hope you found the experience gratifying?"

"Oh, yes. But I went outside the city wall and got myself a little lost, I'm afraid. I passed through the gate by the lady chapel and took a right turn, and after a short distance of passing fields and orchards, the road turned to the left and I saw a fine manor house beside a little church that appeared very ancient. I only wondered what the place might be?"

The rector thought for a moment, then appeared to judge this question innocent enough to merit a straight answer.

"By the Smythgate? I believe you must mean the church of St. Cross, which is indeed of great antiquity. The house would be Holywell Manor, it is the only residence of any size in that direction. The well itself is supposed to be Saxon. It used to be a place of pilgrimage, but obviously that papist custom is discontinued."

"Ah. Well, thank you for satisfying a tourist's curiosity. A seat of the local gentry, I suppose?"

Underhill pursed his lips. "Well. They are gentry of sorts, I suppose, but they are hardly well regarded in Oxford society. It is owned by the Napper family-the father was once a Fellow of All Souls, but he is long dead, and the younger son, George, lies in prison at the Wood Street Counter in Cheapside."

"Really? For what crime?"

He frowned, perhaps now suspicious of my interest. "For refusing to attend church, I believe. But really, I cannot stand here gossiping like a laundress, I must prepare to take Evensong at All Saints." At the archway to his lodgings, he turned back to me. "Oh, and-Doctor Bruno? I shall see Magistrate Barnes this evening at church, so I hope we shall know by tomorrow when to expect the inquest into poor Doctor Mercer's accident. Let us pray it is soon," he added, smiling thinly. "I should not wish to detain you in Oxford any longer than is necessary."