The man spluttered and shook his head more violently. I drew Humphrey Pritchard's old kitchen knife from my belt and held it up to his face.

"Your services are no longer needed here, friend," I said. "Get yourself home and say you were set on by highwaymen. Now!" I added, giving him a shove as he continued to lie there, dumb with fright; that jolted him into gathering his wits, and he scrambled to his feet and ran off into the trees, casting nervous glances over his shoulder as he fled. Thomas turned to me, his eyes flashing.

"You should not have done that, Bruno. Now he will return to Oxford and they will send more men after us."

"Peace, Thomas-it will take him at least an hour to walk back to the city, and there are more than enough men after me already. Tell me what is happening."

Thomas breathed deeply, then nodded, rose to his feet, and jerked the placid pony's head upright.

"I have come to save Sophia," he said, his bony face taut with determination. I saw a strange, hectic glitter in his eyes and his hands moved incessantly in nervous agitation.

"From whom?"

"From those whose safety she threatens."

"Because of the child she carries?"

He snapped his head around and stared at me. "So you know about that? How came you to be here, Doctor Bruno?"

"Guesswork," I said, setting my jaw. "I think you too may be in danger, Thomas."

He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Did I not tell you that already?"

"I mean immediate danger. This very night."

He opened his mouth to reply but at that moment a door opened in the rear range of the house and a voice called softly, "Who is there?"

"Pull up your hood and put away your weapon," Thomas hissed, drawing his own cloak over his head. "Do not speak if you can help it, until we are inside."

I saw no choice but to follow his orders as he picked up the pony's reins and led the cart toward what looked like a servants' entrance. The door was open a fraction and a tall, stooping man with sparse hair surveyed us through the gap with doubtful eyes.

"I am come to carry a passenger to the coast, at the request of Lady Eleanor," Thomas said, in a low voice, keeping his hood pulled down. There was a long pause, as if they were both expecting the other to speak.

"There is a sign," the man behind the door said eventually, with an embarrassed cough.

"Oh. Ora pro nobis." Thomas bit his lip.

"I did not know there were to be two," the servant said, still regarding us with open suspicion. "Well, then-step inside." He opened the door a few inches wider and ushered us into a narrow passageway.

"Wait here, I will tell Lady Eleanor you are arrived." He turned abruptly and strode away up the passage, taking his candle with him and leaving us standing in semidarkness. I glanced at Thomas, who only shuffled anxiously from foot to foot and would not look at me. I wondered what we were walking into, and felt for the reassuring presence of Humphrey's knife under my cloak.

Presently the tall servant returned, his look still guarded, as if he was not convinced by Thomas's performance.

"Follow me," he said curtly, gesturing to the passageway ahead. "They wish to see you for a moment, to go over the travel arrangements."

I imagined, rather, that this Lady Eleanor had heard there were two men present and had grown suspicious. I glanced uneasily at Thomas; once inside this warren of passageways, we were trapped. The servant, holding his candle aloft, led us along the flagstone passageway, up a narrow flight of stairs, and into a much grander, wood-panelled corridor where the boards were covered with scented rushes and early-morning light filtered through low windows. We walked for so long that I was sure the corridor must run the entire range of the house, and indeed eventually it turned sharply to the right and we reached a short flight of stairs ending in an imposing wooden door. The man knocked, and after a soft murmur from within, he pushed open the door and gestured us forward.

I found myself in a high-ceilinged room that spanned the two towers of the gatehouse; by one window stood a woman who was perhaps in her forties, tall and elegant in a dark-red satin dress with a stiff embroidered bodice and wide skirt, her hair bound up in a coif. Behind her was a closed door set into the wall of the octagonal tower on the right, while the matching door into the left tower revealed a spiral staircase leading up. The servant crossed the room, his shoes clacking on the solid brick floor, and whispered something in her ear; she nodded briefly and leaned past him to regard us with an expression of inscrutable calm.

"You come from William Napper?" she asked softly. Thomas nodded confidently, though I was standing close enough to feel how his arm was trembling inside his cloak.

"Where is Simon?" She glanced sharply from Thomas to me.

"He was taken ill, my lady," Thomas said, barely opening his mouth.

"Shut the door behind you, then," she said, stepping forward. "We wish to be sure you are clear about the instructions. Barton, you will stay," she added, nodding to the stooping servant who moved to position himself strategically between us.

"My lady," he murmured.

I glanced around, aware that Lady Eleanor was studying us intently.

"I would be grateful, my friends, if you would lower your hoods indoors," she said softly. "I know we must all be cautious about showing ourselves, but in this household we may trust one another. Sophia!" She half turned to call over her shoulder.

The small door in the eastern tower opened and Sophia Underhill stepped out, just as Thomas glanced once at me and drew down his hood with a flourish. Sophia gave a little scream and looked from Thomas to me, her hands flying up to her mouth. Reluctantly I lowered my own hood and her face seized in a strange rictus of disbelief.

"Bruno?" she whispered eventually, her eyes betraying her utter confusion. "How came you here? And Thomas?" She jerked her head toward Thomas; I noticed that the tall lady had stepped forward, gesturing to Barton to stand by her, her face calm but clearly alert to the tension of the situation.

Before I could answer Sophia, she had turned to Thomas, her expression pleading.

"Thomas, I know what you think but you are mistaken. If you care for me at all, you will let me go. Please," she added, seeing the implacable look on his face, her voice cracking slightly.

"Who are these people, Sophia?" asked the older woman with a hint of sharpness. "Do you know them? Are they here to hinder you?"

Thomas turned to her and executed a brief, insincere bow.

"Lady Tolling, we have only come to return Sophia safely to her family, who are sorely distressed by her absence. If she comes quietly with us now, nothing more will be said of this business."

"The same family who have threatened her life for her faith?" Lady Tolling replied evenly, giving Thomas an appraising glance from head to foot. "We are not so easily taken in, young man."

"But I fear you may have been, Lady Tolling," Thomas said, with impeccable politeness, a dangerous glint in his eye. "I fear Mistress Underhill may not have told you the whole truth about her urgent wish to leave England."

"Thomas, no!" Sophia cried, lurching at him, her hand outstretched. "You do not know what you do! Do not stand in our way now, it will do no good. You will not get what you want, and all will be lost."

The tall servant took a step closer to Thomas, who glanced at him for a moment before turning again to Sophia and laughing, his head thrown back, a wild, manic sound that echoed around the wooden timbers of the ceiling.

"Sophia, Sophia," he said, gently chiding as if speaking to a naughty child. "What lies have you been telling these good people? Have you persuaded Lady Tolling to help you escape so that you can join a French convent, because your family would persecute you for your conversion?"