Giordano Bruno Thriller Series Books 1-3: Heresy, Prophecy, Sacrilege. S. J. Parris
‘You forget yourself, James,’ Slythurst said smoothly. ‘Doctor Bruno here is a friend of the Earl of Leicester.’
‘Indeed, I have never met him,’ I said hastily. ‘I merely travel with his nephew.’
‘In any case,’ Coverdale continued, warming to his theme, ‘the college loses valuable profit and must struggle to make ends meet by admitting legions of these so-called gentlemen commoners – paying students who have neither the inclination nor the talent to be scholars and gad about the town wenching and gambling and bringing the university into disrepute.’
‘This is not an appropriate subject for the supper table,’ said Slythurst, in a voice thick with cold anger, bringing down his palm flat against the board just firmly enough to signal his displeasure. ‘There is nothing improper about those leases, moreover the disbursal of college funds can be of no interest to our guest. A little discretion, if you please, gentlemen.’
The Fellows looked down, embarrassed; an uncomfortable silence loomed.
‘Doctor Coverdale,’ I said, turning to the proctor with a diplomatic smile, ‘you were telling me about the trial of Edmund Allen – please do go on.’
Coverdale exchanged a look with Slythurst that I could not read, then folded his hands together.
‘I was saying only that Mercer’s testimony against Allen carried great weight in the trial, not least because he was Allen’s closest confidant. The rector needed Mercer’s cooperation, and in return he was given Allen’s position.’
‘Which should have been yours,’ I prompted.
Coverdale placed a plump hand on his breast and assumed a face of unconvincing modesty.
‘It is not for my own merits that I say an injustice has been done, Doctor Bruno,’ he said, ‘but for the violation to tradition. This university is founded on tradition, and if individuals feel that they are not obliged to respect it because their personal patronage carries more weight, the fabric of our community will crumble.’
‘Edmund was friend to many of us,’ Godwyn said, with an air of regret. A sombre mood had fallen on our group as once again I heard Sophia, Florio and Mercer erupt into laughter. ‘He was greatly liked by the undergraduates, too – it was a pity that he could not in his heart renounce the errors of his old beliefs.’
‘Exile seems a harsh punishment for owning a few books,’ I ventured, helping myself to more beef and onions.
‘He was lucky to leave England with his guts still inside his belly,’ said Slythurst dispassionately. ‘Less favoured men have had harder punishments for less. You of all people, Doctor Bruno, should know that heterodoxy in religion is a most grave sin, against God and the established order.’ He looked at me pointedly.
‘It was not just the books,’ Godwyn interrupted, in a confidential tone. ‘He was suspected of being a courier for his cousin, William Allen, at the English seminary in Rheims. They took him to London and questioned him under cruel torture, but he never said a word and in the end they sent him abroad. Poor Edmund.’ He shook his head sadly and drained his cup.
‘I met his son today,’ I remarked, tearing another piece of bread.
Coverdale rolled his eyes.
‘Then I pity you,’ he said. ‘No doubt he was begging you to carry pleas to the court for his father’s pardon?’ Without waiting for an answer, he clicked his tongue angrily. ‘That boy should never have been allowed to stay on after his father’s disgrace. Thomas Allen holds dangerous beliefs, mark my words. Though I could not persuade the rector to act on my advice – he is too soft-hearted with that boy.’
I could not help thinking that if the rector’s treatment of Thomas Allen was evidence of soft-heartedness, the boy’s life must be harsh indeed.
‘Once again, it behoves me to say that I do not think our eminent guest has travelled all the way here to listen to us griping about college matters,’ Slythurst interrupted in a voice smooth as ice. He tucked a limp strand of hair behind his ear and turned to me, smiling with his teeth. ‘Tell us, Doctor Bruno, something of your travels in Europe. I understand you have taught at many of the famous academies across the continent. How do you find Oxford by comparison?’
Returning his smile with equal insincerity, for the remainder of that course, and the almond custard and jellied fruits that followed, I told them of my wandering years as the candles burned lower, leaving out what I thought politic and subtly flattering my new companions with what they wanted to hear – namely, that none of the European universities could hold a candle to the great scholarship and wisdom of the men of Oxford.
‘How long do you stay in Oxford, Doctor Bruno?’ asked Coverdale, sitting back in his chair and wiping his lips as the servants cleared away the last plates and cups.
‘I believe the palatine, in whose party I travel, intends to stay a week,’ I said.
‘Then I hope you will attend chapel with us here in the college. The rector is delivering a most erudite series of sermons on John Foxe’s Acts and Monuments, are you familiar with it?’
‘The Book of Martyrs? Naturally,’ I replied, suspecting that this was some sort of test. ‘Many consider it a most inspiring work.’
‘Doctor Bruno is not genuine in his admiration, I fear,’ said Slythurst, glancing from me to his colleagues. ‘I never met a Catholic yet who admired Foxe’s dreadful accounts of what was done to the Protestant martyrs.’
‘Does he not also give many examples of Christian martyrs from the earliest centuries of the faith, when Christians suffered at the hands of pagans and unbelievers, before we began persecuting one another?’ I replied. ‘And are these not martyrs whom all Christians may honour, and whose sufferings may remind us of a time when we lived in unity?’
‘That was not Foxe’s intention,’ Slythurst began, but Coverdale interrupted.
‘Well said, Bruno. Believers on both sides have suffered for Christ, and only He knows who shall stand with Him at the Last Judgement.’
‘That is the first time I have ever heard you advocate tolerance, James,’ Slythurst said, his eyes narrowing even further. Coverdale ignored the provocation.
‘Let us have some more wine here, ho!’ he cried to a serving boy, clapping his hands. I declined another glass, for I wanted to reflect on my notes for the disputation before I went to bed and needed to keep a clear head.
By the time the meal was over, it was fully dark outside the windows and the guests all rose, taking their leave with much handshaking and compliments to the rector on the food, which I understood had been greatly superior to the usual fare of the college hall supper. The Fellows all shook my hand warmly, repeating their welcome to Oxford and wishing me a good night’s rest in anticipation of the great disputation the following day, which they were all, they said, much looking forward to. Richard Godwyn invited me to make use of the library whenever I chose, for which I thanked him, John Florio expressed in perfect Italian his eager hopes that we might spend some time together before I left, and even Doctor Bernard rose unsteadily and clasped my fingers between his two bony hands.
‘Tomorrow night, Sorcerer,’ he hissed, with a toothless grin, ‘you will contradict their pious certainties, and I shall be there in the front row applauding you. Not because I support your heretical notions, but because I admire men who are not afraid. There are too few left in this place.’
Here he glanced pointedly at the rector, who affected not to notice. Only Slythurst did not trouble himself to express a welcome; he merely acknowledged me with a curt nod as he disappeared through the doorway, and only then because I caught him looking at me with those cold eyes. I felt again his dislike of me, though I tried not to view it as a personal slight; I noticed that he left without saying goodnight to his colleagues either, and surmised that he was one of those men, common enough among academics, who was simply not blessed with an easy social manner.