Giordano Bruno Thriller Series Books 1-3: Heresy, Prophecy, Sacrilege. S. J. Parris
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and scuttled off down the stairs to the porter’s lodge. Underhill turned back and I sensed something unspoken in the long look he gave me.
‘The arrows were shot after he died, you say?’
‘It is hard to tell, but I think the blood came mostly from the throat wound. If he was not yet dead, he was near it – I think he would not have been sensible of what was happening, if that is what you mean to ask.’
‘So it would have been quick?’ the rector asked, almost hopefully.
I hesitated, but decided it would be kinder not to dwell on the hacking I had seen at Coverdale’s neck. The coroner would find it out soon enough.
‘It was a terrible death, I will not pretend otherwise. But I have seen men with their throats cut before – they do not linger in this world.’
Underhill regarded me with his head on one side. The candle in the lantern was dying and the room enfolded in shadows again despite the early hour; it seemed to me that the smell of decay was rising from the tower stairs behind us.
‘You have lived a strange life for a philosopher, Doctor Bruno,’ he said softly. ‘Ours must seem a soft and sheltered life to you. I thought it was so, until this week. I have hidden here from the world, thinking an Oxford college a place of sanctuary. Now I have turned a blind eye for too long, and it will be the destruction of me and my family.’
‘Rector Underhill,’ I said, leaning in towards him, ‘if there is anything you know or suspect, anything at all that may have a bearing on these deaths, do not hide it. To what have you turned a blind eye?’
He glanced nervously over his shoulder to the door, a quick, rodent movement, then leaned in closer, his round face lit from beneath by the lantern.
‘Your friend, Sir Philip …’
‘What of him?’
‘He must not learn of this. You will promise me, Doctor Bruno, that you will not speak to him of what is happening within these walls? He is Leicester’s nephew, he would feel compelled to tell him all.’
At that moment footsteps echoed from below and Slythurst reappeared. Underhill shook his head at me tightly to warn me not to say anything further, then looked from me to the bursar apprehensively before turning to the door.
‘Walter?’
‘It occurs to me, Rector,’ Slythurst began, folding his hands together unctuously, ‘that if Doctor Bruno is to examine this room, it might be best if I help him. Two pairs of eyes are better than one, after all.’
‘Very well. But I have need of you, Walter – come to my lodgings as quickly as you can afterwards.’
He gave me a last, imploring look, before closing the door behind him. His footsteps echoed on the stairs as he descended to the courtyard with a heavy tread.
Slythurst crooked his head back and gave the room a cursory glance.
‘What is it you think you will find here, then?’
‘I had thought, Master Slythurst, that you would have a better idea than I of what a man might hope to find in this room,’ I said smoothly.
He turned to me then, his lips curled with undisguised contempt.
‘And I might well ask what you took from this room, Bruno, the last time you and I found ourselves here among a dead man’s things? What souvenir did you carry away then?’
‘I took nothing,’ I said mildly, but I turned my face away all the same and stepped towards the window. Rain drove hard against the pane, washing in rivulets down the glass, blurring the view.
‘Is that so?’ He spoke through his teeth now, and I heard him close at my shoulder. ‘You may have duped the rector into giving you his trust, Bruno, but I see you for what you are.’
‘And what is that?’ I asked, folding my arms across my chest as if I did not care one way or another.
‘You are one of those men who thinks himself gifted enough to live by charm and wit alone rather than by hard work. You seek to ingratiate yourself with men of high position so that you may live in the gilded shadow of their favours. You arrive here flaunting your fame and your patronage from courtiers and kings, but this is the University of Oxford, sir – we are not impressed with such baubles. And you will get no position here, no matter how much you seek to involve yourself in matters that are not your business.’ Spume had gathered at the corners of his lips by the end of this address and he paused to collect himself, his eyes still blazing with a hatred that surprised me with its force.
‘You think I am angling for a position here?’ I repeated, incredulous.
‘I do not see why else you would be seeking to make yourself indispensable to the rector by meddling in these deaths,’ he snapped back.
‘No – you would not see, because you could not imagine exerting yourself for any reason than your own immediate profit.’ Unfolding my arms, I stepped right across to him until I stood only a few inches from his face, daring him to look me straight in the eye. ‘Let me tell you something, Master Bursar. I was a fugitive in my own country for three years. I saw men murdered as casually as boys throw stones at birds, cut down for the shoes they wore or the few coins they carried, and I saw the law look the other way because it was too much effort to bring anyone to justice – because to the law, the dead men were as worthless as those who killed them, who would probably be killed tomorrow in their turn. And I believe that no man’s life is worth so little that, if it is ended by violence, the crime should be shrugged away and a murderer left unpunished. That is why I involve myself, Master Slythurst – it is called justice.’ The vehemence of my reply was at least equal to his, but although he took a step back, the look he fixed on me was subtly mocking and it was I who looked away first, conscious that all my high-minded words were so much hot air. My interest in finding this killer was above all to prove myself to Walsingham and the Earl of Leicester, because this was my first mission, and there would be reward and preferment if I were successful. ‘Let us return to the matter in hand,’ I said brusquely. ‘We are supposed to be holding one another accountable, after all.’
Though the room was neater than the last time I had been there, it had been left in a state of transition, and I felt a sudden pang of loss for James Coverdale, who had barely enjoyed one day as sub-rector before he met as grisly a fate as his predecessor. I had found little to like about the man, but it was a horrific death to have come knocking on the door of the room that he had coveted for so long, just as he was in the process of unpacking his belongings. Slythurst occupied himself straight away with the bundles of paper on Coverdale’s desk; I did not like this, as I guessed that any clue as to what had happened to Coverdale on Saturday night would probably be found among his documents, and I was about to suggest that we divide the work of looking through the desk, when I noticed a smudged bloodstain almost in the hearth.
Crouching to look closer, I saw that one brick in the fireplace, to the right of the hearth, was slightly out of alignment, protruding from the wall as if it were not joined by mortar. I was just able to grip its sides by my fingertips, though I did not have quite enough purchase to ease it from its place, and as my fingers slipped and I grazed my knuckles, I gave a small cry.
‘What have you there?’ Slythurst jerked his head up, dropping the book he had been perusing, and rushed to crouch at my side. I licked the blood from my scraped fingers and tried again. With some patience, I gently worked the brick from one side to the other, feeling it give a little more each time as it crunched against the bricks either side.
‘Come on, man!’ Slythurst muttered. ‘Shall I try?’
‘I have it,’ I snapped, and in a few moments the brick was free, revealing a dark cavity built into the side of the fireplace. I thrust in my hand and rummaged as far as I could, but all I felt was the brickwork at the back of the hole. ‘Nothing,’ I said, bitterly, sitting back on my heels.
‘Out of the way,’ Slythurst barked, elbowing me roughly to one side. His