At last I was left alone with Jenkes, who removed his hood, and the tall, solid figure of Humphrey Pritchard, who began to busy himself tidying the room and putting away the trappings of the ceremony. He left the altar candles, now burning lower and with feeble light. Jenkes looked at me appraisingly.

"So, to business," he said softly. "Please, take off your cloak. You are among friends now. Did you bring your purse, Doctor Bruno?"

I lowered my hood and held his gaze steadily. "Did you bring the book, Master Jenkes?"

His ruined face cracked slowly into a smile. "The book. First tell me what you are willing to pay for this manuscript?"

"I would need to see it first," I said, evenly. "What do you ask for it?"

"That is a difficult question, Bruno. For the worth of an object-any object-depends wholly on another's desire for it, does it not? This book, for instance. I have only met one other man who wanted it as much as you appear to, and he was willing to pay me a great deal. More, perhaps, than you carry in your bulging purse." He eyed my doublet, a hungry glint in his eye.

"Who?" I asked, a cold fear spreading through my stomach. "You didn't sell it?"

At that moment, the door opened; I started, but it was only William Bernard, no longer wearing his vestments but dressed again in his shabby academic's gown and a thin cloak, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I was just telling Doctor Bruno of the man who wanted to buy the Greek manuscript from Dean Flemyng's collection-the one you saved from the purge of '69," Jenkes informed him. Bernard nodded slowly.

"I discovered the manuscript buried in an old chest when I first became librarian of Lincoln," Bernard explained. "My predecessor had been either unable to read it or unaware of what it was, but I recognised it immediately and understood that in the right hands it could be extremely valuable-and extremely dangerous."

"So you stole it?" I asked.

Bernard frowned. "I did no such thing. The college took an annual inventory of the library's collection-any disappearance would have been noticed. But the Lord provides to those who keep the faith-in 1569 the king's visitors carried out a purge of the college libraries, as you know, and in their haste to remove offending items it was a simple matter to spirit away some of the unwanted manuscripts. I had already told Rowland that I had found the lost writings of Hermes Trismegistus, the book Ficino refused to translate because he would not be responsible for the consequences to Christendom. I am not sure he believed me until I was able to place it into his hands, though."

Jenkes held up a hand as if to absolve himself. "As soon as I read the book, I did not doubt it could be genuine," he said. "This was the book Cosimo de' Medici had paid a fortune to have fetched from the ruins of Byzantium, yet he never got to read it. I knew there was one man who would pay me whatever I demanded to have this book in his library."

"You may know him," Bernard said slyly, "for he was tutor to your great friend Philip Sidney. I speak of the sorcerer John Dee, astrologer to the heretic bastard Elizabeth."

"Then"-I looked from one to the other, my hopes collapsing as I spoke-"then John Dee has the book? You sold it to him?"

"No, and yes," Jenkes said, stepping forward with his palms spread wide to demonstrate his helplessness in the matter. "I sold him the book for a very large sum-we had exchanged letters and Dee travelled to Oxford personally to make the transaction. But there was an unfortunate intervention-either by Providence or some other power."

"What do you mean?" I was impatient now, and tiring of this game of cat and mouse. From the corner of my eye I could see Humphrey Pritchard lolling against the wall by the blacked-out window, picking bits of communion wafer from his teeth. I wondered, with a sense of apprehension, why he was still there, watching us with detached curiosity, and why Jenkes and Bernard did not object to his presence.

"On the road back to London, Dee was set upon by highwaymen and most brutally assaulted. He was fortunate to escape with his life, but his possessions were all stolen, including the manuscript he carried."

Jenkes related this with perfect unconcern; at the same time he gave an almost imperceptible flick of his fingers and Humphrey moved away from the window toward us.

"And this was your doing?" I asked, turning to keep Humphrey in my sight. "Did you have the manuscript recovered?"

"I?" Jenkes affected affront. "You think me capable of such underhanded dealings, Bruno? I assure you, I am nothing but honest in my business affairs, nor am I such a fool as to make an enemy of one so close to the queen's favourites." He gave me an odd look as he said this, then exchanged a glance with Bernard. "No-it appeared that Doctor Dee was not the only person with an interest in the subject, who was prepared to obtain the manuscript at any cost."

"Then where is it now?" I demanded, snapping around to face him. "If you do not have it, why this charade of asking me to bring my purse?" But even as I spoke, the knowledge of what was to come spread through my veins like icy water; I whipped around toward Humphrey but I was not fast enough and he had both my arms pinioned behind me before I could duck away from his grasp. In the same instant, it seemed, Jenkes had lunged forward and snatched the silver-handed knife from my belt; with its tip pressed to the base of my throat, he reached inside my doublet, first one side and then the other, until he found Walsingham's purse. Bringing it into the light, he threw it casually in the air and caught it again with his free hand, testing its weight. Bernard simply stood and watched with his arms still hidden behind his back and his face impassive.

"Cry out and I will slit your gizzard like a pig before the sound has left your throat," Jenkes hissed, pressing the knife in closer.

"It was all a lie, then?" I asked through gritted teeth, as I struggled uselessly against Humphrey Pritchard's iron embrace. "The story about the book?"

"Oh, no." Jenkes looked almost hurt. "The story is true in every particular, Bruno. The book was stolen from Dee by one who must have known he was carrying it-but whoever attacked him was not in my employ, and I do not believe Dee ever found out where it was taken, or why. That is no longer my concern. No, I have not lied to you, Doctor Bruno. But I do not think you can say the same."

"I don't know what you mean," I said, panic rising in my voice as the tip of Jenkes's knife pricked against my skin. "In what do you think I have lied?"

"Where did you get this money?" he hissed, holding up the purse and shaking it, all traces of his unctuous politeness vanished. "How does an exiled, itinerant writer come to Oxford with a purse this full, I ask myself? Who pays you?"

"I have a stipend from King Henri of France," I spat, still trying to wrest my arms free; Humphrey only pulled them tighter behind me, and I realised that all I would achieve in struggling would be to dislocate my own shoulders. I stopped moving and slumped forward, still holding Jenkes's stare. "I travel under his patronage-anyone will tell you that."

"You travel with Sir Philip Sidney, who has the patronage of his uncle, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, lover of the whore Elizabeth. And Dudley's whole interest, like that of all the Privy Council, lies in ridding Oxford of those who remain loyal to the pope, whom you are charged with rooting out for him like a pig after truffles. Is it not so?" He stepped closer to me and raised his elbow, so that I had to force my head as far back as I could to keep the knife from piercing my throat.

"I know nothing of the earl's interests-I have never laid eyes on him!" I croaked, a sharp pain shooting down the side of my neck from the strain.