Giordano Bruno 01 - Heresy

by S. J. Parris

  “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.

  “You dissemble well, Bruno—I expected as much. It must be an exceptional man who can keep ahead of the Inquisition for seven years. But you do not fool me. You are a schismatic and a heretic and you seek to prosper and revenge yourself on the Catholic church by betraying those who keep the faith you scorned.”

  “You have no reason to think so,” I protested, genuinely alarmed now by the fierce light in Jenkes’s eyes. “On what grounds do you accuse me?”

  “On what grounds?” He gave a short, hacking laugh and took a step back, relaxing his arm, though he did not lower the knife from my throat. “What—apart from your intimacy with Sidney and the money you use to bribe your informers? Explain for me, then, your interest in the deaths at Lincoln College. For whose sake do you concern yourself so diligently with finding the killer?”

  “What informers?” I lurched forward again unintentionally and felt something pull sharply in my shoulder as Humphrey wrenched my arms back tighter. “I was not convinced by the account of Doctor Mercer’s death, that is all—I thought others might be in danger if the killer was not found. Which proved to be the case,” I added pointedly.

  “What touching charity,” Jenkes said, almost without opening his lips. “Well, then, let us try another question. Why did you invite Thomas Allen to eat with you?”

  My face must have betrayed my surprise, because he smiled thinly and tilted his head to one side.

  “Have you never observed, Bruno, how a blind man can develop the hearing of a dog, to compensate for his lost faculty? Just so I, who have no ears, make up for my loss by having many eyes, that see into every corner.” He laughed drily at this, as if he had rehearsed it earlier and found it pleasing. When I failed to show my appreciation, he lunged again, needling the knife tip in closer. “What were you asking Allen? What did he tell you?”

  “He told me nothing of any worth,” I panted, trying to twist my neck away from the point of the blade. “He talked of his studies, his worries about girls—the trivia of a young man’s mind only.”

  “Do not lie to me again, Bruno,” Jenkes said through his teeth, his voice calm and cold. “You deliberately sought out the one man in Oxford who wants to see us all destroyed.” Then he jerked the knife swiftly to one side and there was a moment’s pause before a searing pain shot up my neck and he held up the knife to my eye level, its blade stained crimson. “Look how you tremble to see your own blood. It’s but a nick,” he said dismissively. “You’ve had worse shaving. But see how you bleed, even from a little cut. Think how your blood will stain the ground when I cut your neck right across.”

  I closed my eyes, my mind spinning wildly as I tried to think of ways I might try to escape. None came obviously to mind.

  “If Thomas Allen wishes to destroy your group, why would he not report what he knows?”

  “Ah.” Jenkes studied me for a moment. “I see there is much you do not yet know, Bruno. It is not that simple. He cannot do it himself. But I cannot let you pass on whatever he has told you about us.”

  “If you mean to kill me, then,” I said, keeping my voice as even as I could manage, “at least tell me why you killed those men at Lincoln. Satisfy that curiosity for me.”

  Jenkes frowned, then looked over at Bernard as if for approval.

  “What a strange last request, Bruno. And one I cannot satisfy, for I did not kill Mercer and Coverdale, nor the boy, and I do not know for certain who did. I am as curious to find the answer as you are.”

  “Then why do you wish to prevent anyone finding out? They came here for Mass, did they not? Coverdale and Mercer—they were part of your group. Do you not care that they have been violently killed, and more of you may be in danger?” I asked, looking from one to the other in confusion, the cut in my throat now stinging fiercely.

  “Their deaths have provoked too many questions,” Bernard said, in the same clear, solemn tone with which he had pronounced the Mass. “Oxford men would know well enough to leave those questions unanswered, but you are not an Oxford man and your insistence on ferreting out the truth would expose us all in the end. I’m sorry to say that your curiosity has been the undoing of you.”

  He sounded genuinely sorrowful as he said this. For a moment I felt the room spin; my heart seemed to have stopped beating and I lost all sensation in my arms and legs as I realised without any doubt that they did mean to kill me and that it was quite possible I would not be able to talk my way out of it. My bowel gave a spasm at the same time, but I tensed every muscle and brought it under control. I would at least not shame myself that way.

  “But,” I gasped, battling to catch my ragged breaths, “then this killer is your enemy—it is he who is causing these questions to be asked! He scrawled the sign of the Catherine Wheel on the wall in Coverdale’s blood—it is as if he wants to point the finger at you and your group, while it is your people he is killing! Surely, then, it can only help you if I try to find him?”

  A sharp look passed between them at the mention of the symbol; Bernard’s face hardened into knowing anger and Jenkes seemed rattled for the first time since he had turned on me.

  “Say that again,” he hissed, forcing the knife into the tender skin of the cut he had made so that I yelped in pain and bit my lip to stop myself crying out. Bernard took a step closer and shook his head almost imperceptibly; Jenkes withdrew the knife a very little. “On the wall, you say? How many people saw this?”

  “Apart from me, only Rector Underhill and the bursar, Slythurst,” I said, almost in a whisper. “The rector had it removed before the coroner arrived.”

  “Good.” Bernard nodded almost to himself. “Well, then, Rowland, let us get this thing done and be on our way, or we shall risk being seen.”

  “No, wait!” I cried, as quietly as I could. “I can help you find him if you let me go back to college and continue my search. Come—we are on the same side.”

  Jenkes laughed abruptly. “We are not on the same side, Bruno,” he replied
. “Do you not see? You think you are hunting this killer down but all the time he is using you to betray us. He wants to lead you to us, to make you connect the deaths to us and probe into the secrets of our network, so that you can take the knowledge back to Sidney and your friends in London and think it was your own conclusion.”

  “You speak as if you know who he is,” I said, feeling that if I could only keep him talking I might deter him from the course of action he had decided. But Jenkes, it seemed, was tired of talking; he nodded at Bernard, who finally drew his hands out from behind his back to reveal a length of thin cord.

  “You have seen and heard too much, Bruno,” Jenkes said matter-of-factly, his knife still quivering at my throat as Bernard disappeared behind me and my wrists were roughly pulled together and bound. “But I will find out what Thomas Allen told you, and whether you have passed it on, before I send you to the Devil. You can tell me willingly or otherwise, it is up to you.”

  “Why do you not ask Thomas Allen?”

  “Because he is not here. But do not worry—I think it unlikely that Thomas Allen will see tomorrow’s sunrise either.”

  “You will kill him too?” I gasped.

  “Not I, Bruno.” Jenkes shook his head and offered an enigmatic smile. “Not I. I have not touched Thomas Allen for the sake of his father, who kept faith with us even under hard torture. But Thomas should not have spoken to you. Now others may not be so scrupulous.”

  “I am a guest with the royal party,” I spluttered, grasping now at straws, “my murder would be a scandal—it will lead the magistrate straight to this place.”

  Jenkes shook his head slowly.

  “You badly underestimate my intelligence, Bruno, I almost find it insulting. Even a member of a royal party may take a fancy to visit the stews in the dead of night—after all, that is no more than anyone would expect of a foreigner and a papist. And not knowing the bad streets in that part of town, he might easily find himself the victim of violent robbers—especially if he will go abroad carrying such a fat purse. It will be an embarrassment to the royal party, no doubt, but they will quickly dissociate themselves from you. What do you think, William,” he asked, raising his head toward Bernard, who was still tying my arms while Humphrey held them in place, “shall we leave his body to be found outside one of the boy houses, or is that a humiliation too far?”

  When Bernard did not answer, Jenkes merely shrugged and continued. “I will be back before first light, when I have made the arrangements. I leave you in Humphrey’s care while you consider what you are going to tell me about your conversation with Thomas Allen.”

  “You would kill me to protect yourselves?” I asked, flailing as Humphrey lowered me with surprising gentleness to the floor and Bernard moved around to tie my ankles with another length of cord. Jenkes studied me severely.

  “To protect the faith, Bruno,” he answered eventually, reproach in his voice. “Everything I do is to protect and preserve our persecuted faith, therefore it is no sin in God’s eyes.”

  “What of the sixth commandment?” My voice sounded choked and unusually high. “Thou shalt not kill?”

  “I begin with the first two commandments. Thou shalt not have strange gods before me. Thou shalt not make to thyself a graven image.” His eyes narrowed and he brought his face very close to mine, so that I could almost count the blackened pores on his nose. “This country—my country, Bruno, for I was born and remain an Englishman—my idolatrous country, then, has broken these commandments. The heretic bastard of the whore Anne Boleyn has set herself up as a rival to the Holy Father himself and the souls of her people are in mortal peril. To combat such heresy is holy war, not murder. But to show that I am no barbarian, Bruno, Father William will hear your confession before you die, if you choose to be reconciled to the Holy Mother Church.”

  “I will not confess myself to you,” I said, through my teeth.

  Jenkes did not seem put out. “No matter—it is between your conscience and your God,” he shrugged, unwinding from around his neck a dirty linen scarf. Seizing my nose hard, he pinched it between his fingers until I was forced to open my mouth to breathe; as soon as I did so, he stuffed the scarf into my mouth until my jaw was stretched painfully wide and I was gagging on the material, unable to make any sound. For a hideous, panicked moment I thought he meant to suffocate me and began to struggle violently, but he released my nose and gave me a lingering look of distaste.

  “You had better search his room in the college,” he said brusquely to Bernard, who nodded. Jenkes once again rummaged inside my jerkin and found the key attached to my belt; quickly he tore it off and threw it to Bernard. It was of little consolation now, but at least I had the sheet with the copy of the cipher from Mercer’s almanac tucked inside my shirt, and there was nothing in the chamber at Lincoln that could link me to Walsingham. I cursed my own stupidity in not sending word to Sidney of my plans; only Cobbett knew that I had gone out, but he would have no idea of where to look for me, or even that I was in danger, until my body was found tomorrow morning lying in an alley outside a whorehouse. I shuddered, the ache in my jaw worsening as I struggled to swallow my own saliva without choking on the scarf.

  Jenkes gave me a last analytic glance, bent to check that my bonds were tight enough, then motioned to Bernard.

  “I will see you soon enough, Bruno. Think carefully about what you want to tell me. This face of mine will seem the face of an angel compared to the way you’ll look if I have to force it out of you. I hope that won’t be necessary.”

  Bernard peered down at me, his lined face steely yet clouded with regret. Then he pulled the hood of his cloak around his ears and swept out of the room, leaving me alone with Humphrey Pritchard.

  Chapter 17

  A tense stillness settled over the room. From somewhere downstairs there came the sound of a door closing. The candles on the altar had burned low now, tall plumes of black smoke rising from the stubs, the flames elongating and flickering, making Humphrey’s shadow loom enormously on the wall behind him. He made no move to replace the candles; indeed, he seemed ill at ease with his new responsibility, lowering himself heavily to sit on the floor beneath the window, his back against the wall. Here he waited uncomfortably, watching me with a brow furrowed in mixed concern and apology. The only sound was my quick, shallow breaths through my nose, as I struggled to keep my breathing even and not to panic at the mass of cloth jamming my mouth. I saw that Humphrey carried a knife at his belt; his fingers strayed to it every few moments though I was sure that, for all his great size, the young man had a gentle nature and had only reluctantly assumed his role as Jenkes’s strong-arm. I wondered if he would have the nerve to use the knife on me if I made an attempt to escape and decided he probably would; his fear of Jenkes would overcome his natural compassion.

  A sharp wind rattled at the shutters; Humphrey started, whipped his head around, then laughed sheepishly at his own nerves. I implored him with my eyes, in case I might appeal to his better nature before Jenkes returned, though I had little hope he would take pity. Humphrey had better reason than anyone to know what Jenkes did to those who endangered the cause.

  My shoulders had begun to ache from the unnatural position of my arms; I tried moving my wrists but the cords were bound too tightly to try wriggling free and cut badly into my flesh if I did so. I thought again of the faces I had recognised at the Mass. There was Richard Godwyn, who distributed Jenkes’s clandestine books, and Rector Underhill’s sharp-eyed old servant, Adam, both associated with the Catherine Wheel and with Lincoln College; either of them might have reasons for silencing the Fellows who had died, if only to protect themselves. Adam in particular, as I had thought earlier, would have no lack of opportunity to spirit away keys from the rector’s lodgings—but if they faithfully attended Mass here, I could see no reason why they would want to draw attention to the Catherine Wheel group. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall. I had to concentrate on finding a way to escape; all t
his speculation would be worthless if I was to have my throat cut in an alley before sunrise. The thought brought a fresh convulsion of fear as the reality of my present situation began fully to sink in. I had feared for my life before, but never had I felt so helpless to fight for it.

  I stretched my neck to try and ease the ache in my jaw, making the cut at the base of my throat gape and sting viciously; the pain made me catch my breath suddenly, sucking in a piece of the cloth which lodged in my throat. Half choking, I flung my head from side to side to try and dislodge it, emitting tiny strangled noises as I felt my eyes bulging alarmingly. It was only when I fell sideways with a thud and began writhing on the floor that Humphrey, realising what was happening, leaped to my side and began to claw the gag from my mouth. When finally he had extracted it altogether, I fell back limply against his shoulder, gasping for air, my eyes streaming.

  “I’ll leave it for now, Doctor Bruno, but you’d best not cry for help or I will be obliged to beat you,” Humphrey whispered apologetically, propping me up against the wall as if I were a doll and watching me with concern.

  “Does he really mean to kill me?” I asked in a croak, when eventually I could speak.