I was woken the following day by the slamming of my chamber door as Sidney, dressed in a plum-coloured velvet doublet and short breeches with white silk stockings, threw it open without a knock, grinning broadly as he strode across and drew back the curtains with a flourish to let in the full force of the midday spring sun. At his insistence I had returned directly with him and was now lodged at Christ Church College, in an oak-panelled room adjacent to his own, several degrees of luxury above the chamber I had become used to at Lincoln. Here I had a soft bed, woollen blankets, fresh water for washing, and a jug of small beer by my bed, though I had barely had a chance to appreciate any of this comparative ease, as I had done nothing but sleep since we had returned from Hazeley Court the previous day.

"And how do I find you this fine afternoon, my adventurous friend?" Sidney asked, pouring himself a cup of beer. I noticed that he was now quite openly wearing an ornamental sword at his belt, despite the university's absolute ban on weapons. Clearly he had decided that the circumstances warranted a breach of etiquette.

I struggled to sit up, feeling my shoulder twinge viciously as I leaned my weight on my arm.

"Is it afternoon already? This shoulder is still bad but I feel rested, I think."

"So you should, you have been asleep almost a whole day. You have missed all the excitement."

"Why, what has happened?" I asked anxiously, wincing again as I tried to push myself up on my bad arm.

"Gilbert and Sophia were taken shortly after we found you yesterday, at a house in Abingdon," he said, taking an orange from his pocket and digging his thumb into the peel, "and Jenkes is fled. His shop was raided last night but nothing incriminating was found, if you can believe it. His apprentice was taken for questioning but says only that his master has had to travel on business. That snake has slipped through our fingers this time, but at least he will not trouble you again in Oxford." He tore a curling strip of peel from the orange and let it drop on the stand beside my bed. The scent brought back a sharp memory of that first morning in Roger Mercer's room, the peel under the desk, the faint smell on the pages of the almanac. Might it have been better altogether if I had left that book alone, if I had never caught the scent of orange juice from its covers?

"Sophia and Jerome-where are they?" I asked.

"Father Jerome is on his way to London for some uncomfortable questioning," he said, seeming more interested in delicately separating a segment of his orange and holding it out to me. His detachment made me uncomfortable. "Sophia," Sidney continued, putting a piece of fruit into his mouth, "is at present under the supervision of her father. It seems they allowed her to be released on bail." He gave me a long look, one eyebrow raised in what I judged to be a disapproving complicity, before licking his fingers deliberately and turning away to the window. "Anyway, I came to tell you that there is a messenger arrived at the porter's lodge just now from Rector Underhill, inviting you to visit him at his lodgings before you leave Oxford."

"I will go straightaway," I said, levering myself gingerly out of bed, anxious to speak to Sophia if only to make sure she had decided to confirm my story about the letters. The fact that she had been released into the custody of her father suggested that she had not insisted too vehemently on her loyalty to Jerome, but she may simply have pleaded her belly. How she must have hated me, I thought, when she saw him led away in manacles by the pursuivants. More than anything, I wanted the chance to ask her forgiveness, to convince her that I had acted for her own good. There was little chance she would believe me, but I did not want to leave Oxford with these things unsaid.

"I will go with you," Sidney said, as I pulled on my breeches and buttoned my shirt in such haste that I had it all awry and had to begin again. "Jenkes may not be at large but he has friends who may well have been instructed to see that you don't get back to London and talk. Until we leave tomorrow, you are not to go unaccompanied or unarmed."

I stopped, midway through pulling on my boot. "I would like to see the rector alone, though."

"Don't worry-I won't interfere with your fond farewells. I will make idle chatter with the porter while I wait."

"Cobbett!" I exclaimed, remembering that if it were not for his brave insubordination on my behalf, Sidney would never have received my message and I would certainly be either murdered or arrested, depending on which of my pursuers had reached me first. I turned to Sidney apologetically. "I fear I must ask you to advance me some of that promised reward from your father-in-law. Jenkes stole my purse, and I would like to thank Cobbett-it was he who sent the boy and brought you to my rescue, at some cost to himself."

"Well, then, we shall see what the college cellar may offer a man of such stout heart," Sidney said with a grin, opening the door for me. "I never thought I would say this, Bruno, but I shall not be sorry to leave these spires behind me this time."

"Nor I," I replied with feeling, remembering with a terrible stab of melancholy how I had once dreamed of making my name in Oxford.

WHEN WE REACHED Lincoln gatehouse, carrying a bottle of Spanish wine Sidney had bought from the cellarer at Christ Church, there was no sign of Cobbett in the little lodge beneath the archway. In his place was a thin-faced man with straggly brown hair who looked up at us suspiciously, then lowered his eyes as he registered the quality of Sidney's clothes.

"Where is Cobbett?" I asked, more brusquely than necessary.

The man shrugged, evidently disliking my tone. "All I know's he's suspended from duty. They're saying he'll be retired. Who'd'ye want to see?"

"Rector Underhill. He is expecting me. Doctor Bruno."

Sidney clapped me on the shoulder with unusual gentleness.

"I think I shall take a drink in the Mitre Inn on the corner of the High Street. Find me there when you are done-do not think of going any farther without me," he added, with a warning glance. The new porter glared at me, then motioned me toward the courtyard.

"Ye'll find him in his lodgings," he grunted, eyeing the bottle of wine. I tucked it tightly under my arm and set off across the courtyard, turning in the middle to glance back with a shudder at the window of the tower room and the doorway to what had been Gabriel Norris and Thomas Allen's room.

The rector's old servant, Adam, opened the door to my knock and almost fell backward when he saw me, his usual surly countenance replaced by a wide-eyed expression of honest terror. He pulled the door closed behind him so that his voice would not carry and stepped out into the passageway.

"I can pay you, sir," he hissed, clutching urgently at the front of my doublet. "I have money saved for my old age-it is not a fortune, but you may find a use for it. You know, it was only ill luck that you saw me that night, for I hardly ever go to that place anymore, it was only to oblige a friend, but if you must make a report or a list of names, I pray you, take what money I have in my coffers, if only my name might not appear-"

"Peace, Adam," I whispered back, removing his trembling hands from my clothes and feeling oddly insulted. "I have no use for your money, nor has anyone asked me for names. But if you will profess a forbidden faith, at least have the courage to be true to it-otherwise what is the point?"

He offered up a limp smile of gratitude, then opened the door for me. "My master is within," he murmured, bowing his head.

In the wide reception room where we had dined so companionably on my first evening in Oxford, the rector stood facing the window that gave onto the grove, hands clasped behind his back. I glanced around at the empty dining table, remembering where Roger Mercer and James Coverdale had sat at that dinner, recalling the deep rumble of Mercer's laughter. Perhaps the rector too was remembering as he looked out over the garden where Mercer had met his terrible death only hours later. Adam closed the door behind me with a click and slipped discreetly through the door to the interior room. Underhill still did not stir from the window; when he spoke, he kept his back to me, his voice flat and unnatural.