Giordano Bruno Thriller Series Books 1-3: Heresy, Prophecy, Sacrilege

Slythurst glanced anxiously at the rector, who appeared lost in his own thoughts and was making every effort to avoid looking at the body.

‘With respect, Doctor Bruno, have you been appointed to investigate this crime, that you should start questioning us as if you were the magistrate?’

‘Oh, just answer him, Walter, he is trying to help us,’ said the rector wearily, to my surprise. ‘For myself, I have not been up here since last Tuesday, when we took out the monies and papers for the college attorney. Is that right, Walter, was it Tuesday?’

‘That was the last time we were all here together,’ Slythurst agreed, shooting me a look of distaste. ‘I was last here on the evening of Saturday, just before the disputation, when James let me in to collect the papers I needed relating to the management of our estates in Aylesbury, together with some money for the journey and sundry expenses when I arrived. I left for Buckinghamshire first thing on Sunday morning and have not been near the strongroom until my return just now, which you witnessed. There – am I in the clear?’ he added, his eyes flashing sarcasm.

‘That is not for me to say.’ I shrugged. ‘What time did you collect the papers on Saturday evening?’

‘Just before the disputation, I told you, so I suppose some time around half past four. I wanted to have everything in order for my journey the next day because I knew the dinner at Christ Church would end late and I did not want to have to disturb James when I returned.’ He flicked a brief glance then at Coverdale’s bizarre corpse and lowered his head.

I crossed the room back to the body with its protruding arrows and considered it again from various angles, touching my finger to the bloodstains on the shirt, which left a thick residue.

‘This body could well have been here since Saturday night,’ I said. ‘The blood is dry and the stiffness that sets in after death has already passed – he is beginning to rot. If the weather had been warmer the decay would be more advanced, we would not be able to breathe in this room. But I have remembered something – Doctor Coverdale was summoned early from the disputation, one of the students brought him an urgent message. I wonder then if he was lured back to his death.’

‘I do recall that he did not attend the dinner for the palatine that night,’ the rector murmured, ‘and I thought it strange because he had been looking forward to it – he likes to make an impression on men of state. Liked.’ He corrected himself quickly, shaking his head. ‘Oh, God in heaven!’ It was a cry of genuine anguish, though not, I felt, of grief for his colleague, and his voice rose to a frantic pitch. ‘You are right, Doctor Bruno, we shall not be able to keep the manner of this death secret. There will be a full investigation, the coroner and the magistrate will be called – the college will be ruined! I can think of several of our benefactors who will not want their names associated with a place of such iniquity – they will withdraw funds and give them to other foundations less blighted by evil deeds. This is truly the work of the Devil! To make a mockery of the Christian martyrs in such monstrous fashion.’ He buried his face in his hands and I thought for a moment he was sobbing, but he was only trying to master his breathing.

‘Well, it is the work of someone who can wield a longbow,’ I said pragmatically. ‘Though I think at this distance even I could hit a target that was tied to the wall and already dead, so we are not necessarily looking for someone with any great skill in archery. Whoever it was has staged this murder very carefully so that we would link it to the other.’

‘So that you would link it,’ said the rector. ‘Foxe, the false martyrdoms – this is your theory, Doctor Bruno.’

‘It was suggested to me by someone unknown,’ I reminded him.

‘Yes, don’t you see? That paper you showed me, cut from Foxe. This –’ he gestured wildly at the corpse in the corner – ‘has been done for your benefit, knowing that you would understand the reference.’ He stared at me incredulously, as if it were my theory that had delivered Coverdale to his fate.

‘But the killer could not have known that I would be around at this precise moment to witness the discovery,’ I objected. ‘Yet – it does seem that he wanted to make sure you would not miss the martyrdom reference this time and fail to make the connection with Roger Mercer’s death.’

‘So it must be the same person?’ The rector looked up at me, his eyes filled with anxiety.

‘Norris owns a razor, you know,’ Slythurst spoke up suddenly. ‘Shaves himself every day, if you please.’

I considered, rubbing my own beard.

‘A razor and a longbow. Someone is keen for the evidence to point to Norris, that seems clear.’

‘You think it could not be him?’ the rector asked, still looking up at me like a child craving reassurance.

‘From the little I know of Norris, I cannot believe he would commit so showy a murder and then leave behind a weapon that points directly to himself. Besides, what could be his motive?’

‘James hated the commoners, he was always railing against them. You heard him yourself at the rector’s supper,’ Slythurst said.

‘Hardly a reason for one of them to kill him,’ I retorted. ‘On the other hand, someone who bitterly resented the presence of commoners might think to kill two birds with one stone, as you English say – to despatch Doctor Coverdale for some reason yet unknown, and leave evidence incriminating Norris at the same time. There were marks on the staircase, footprints – if we had more light I could examine them, but I fear the rain will have washed away the trail outside by now.’

‘Walter – could you go down and ask Cobbett for a lantern? Doctor Bruno is right – we must look at the room carefully before we jump to any conclusions, and it is too dim. And a basin of water,’ the rector added. ‘We must wash that mark from the wall before the coroner is called.’

Slythurst’s eyes widened.

‘Surely, Rector, that mark is part of the evidence? It may have some significance – we should not tamper—’

‘Those are my instructions, Walter. Now please do as I ask.’

Slythurst looked from me to the rector with momentary outrage at being ordered like a servant, but unable to think of any reason for defiance, he turned on his heel and a moment later we heard his footsteps thundering down the stairs.

‘Doctor Bruno?’ With a great effort, Rector Underhill heaved himself to his feet and grasped me by both wrists. His bombast was all deflated and he looked old and frightened; I found I pitied him the scandal that would break in the wake of this second death. ‘You foresaw this, and I did not. I dismissed your theory about Foxe – it seemed to me preposterous, and it suited me to avoid damage to the college by allowing myself to be guided by others, James chief among them, in presenting Roger’s death as an accident. But I must humble myself and acknowledge that you were right – it seems a madman is targeting the Fellows in these horrible travesties of Christian martyrdom. Perhaps if James and I had not scoffed at your idea, he would not be dead.’

‘If it’s any consolation, Rector,’ I said, patting his hand gently, ‘I think Doctor Coverdale was already dead by the time you were ridiculing my theory on Saturday night. But I will say it again – someone in Lincoln College knows who did this. He is very likely one of your number.’

‘You are determined that it is the same killer?’ He was still grasping my sleeve.

‘It seems so.’

‘Then there may be more victims to come, unless he is stopped?’

‘I don’t know, Rector. Until we know why these two were made martyrs, we cannot predict this murderer’s intent, or what he hopes to gain by making his handiwork so ostentatious.’

‘Doctor Bruno …’ The rector’s voice cracked, and he hesitated, trying to breathe evenly. ‘I know the college cannot hope to keep this hidden from the world. But these murders will be the end of my rectorship – perhaps of the college. We are not as wealthy as some and if the benefactions dry up, the rich students will look elsewhere. And it is not just for myself that I fear, Doctor Bruno – what are the prospects for my daughter if I no longer have Leicester’s favour? Hm?’

He shook my arm with some force, as if this might extract a quicker answer.

‘Your daughter has her own qualities to recommend her, with or without the earl’s patronage.’

Underhill shook his head.

‘That is not how it works in society, as you must know. Among the good families of Oxford she is spoken of as ungovernable. It is only my standing with the earl that makes her any kind of prospect – without that, no respectable man will take her to wife. She should not be in such a place as this if her mother will not chaperone her, but I am a foolish, indulgent father and I cannot bear to send her away. Yet every day she spends in this college damages her reputation further.’ He took a deep breath and I saw that shock had forced all his emotions to the surface; I half expected him to break down weeping, but he gathered himself and continued, ‘The Earl of Leicester must hear this dreadful news, of course, but how much better it would go for us if he were not to learn of it until we could also present him with a murderer apprehended. Do you see?’

‘You must hope your coroner and magistrate work quickly then,’ I said, pretending not to guess at his meaning.

‘That is the thing – they do not. And they lack the subtlety to comprehend a crime of this nature. I fear they would blunder into corners of college life that would seem curious to all except men of learning, like ourselves. Whereas you …’ He let his implication hang in the air, regarding me with an expression of wary hope.

‘I, sir?’ I raised my eyebrows with exaggerated surprise. ‘A foreigner? A Catholic? A man reported to practise magic, who openly believes the Earth goes around the Sun?’

Underhill lowered his eyes, and released his grip on my arms.

‘I beg your forgiveness for my hasty words, Doctor Bruno. Fear breeds such prejudices, and we are a fearful nation in these times. And now fear visits us even in this sanctum of learning …’ His voice died away and he looked helplessly towards the far window, away from Coverdale’s corpse.

‘Are you asking my help in finding this killer?’ I said briskly.

He turned to me, a faint hope in his small watery eyes.

‘In ordinary circumstances, I would not think of imposing on a guest – but it seems this killer wants you involved. The paper you showed me – I thought someone was making sport with you, but with this –’ he raised a hand again behind him towards the body – ‘perhaps you can draw him out before there is any more blood spilled.’

‘Then you believe he will find more victims?’ I said, perhaps too sharply.

He turned to me and blinked rapidly, shaking his head.

‘I only meant – because it seems clear we are dealing with a fiend who is either possessed or mad—’

Just at that moment, there was a scrape and a dull thud from behind us; from the corner of my eye I glimpsed a sudden movement and whipped around to see Coverdale jerk and shift position. The rector shrieked and grabbed my arm again; I heard myself gasp, and for one hideous moment a cold dread washed through me as I wondered if he was not yet dead and had been hanging there in mortal agony all this time. But as I steadied my breathing and took a hesitant step forward, I realised that the knot in the rope holding him to the sconce had begun to slip.