Heresy - S. J. Parris

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Mary were deprived of office unless they renounced the pope’s authority and swore the Oath of Supremacy. William swore it quickly enough, and that oath bought him twenty-five peaceful years in this place, while his more steadfast friends were scattered to the four winds.’

      ‘And yet, in the winter of his life, it seems clear enough to anyone listening that his heart returns to the old faith.’

      ‘I think, as he nears death, he grows less concerned with the fate of his body and more fearful for his soul,’ Mercer said. ‘Perhaps if we all saw our death so close at hand, we might choose a different course, but alas, while we breathe our fears are all for our poor, weak flesh and our worldly status.’

      ‘Perhaps so. But it is the son who seems to suffer it most,’ I observed.

      ‘You have met Thomas? That poor boy. He is a very able scholar, you know. At least, he was.’ Mercer ran both hands over his face as if washing it, a gesture of hopelessness. ‘I have known him since he first came to Oxford at fifteen – before his father left for Rheims, he charged me to care for Thomas like a father in his absence. Edmund understood why I had to act as I did – he forgave me. But Thomas will not forgive me for my part in Edmund’s trial. I have tried to help him – with such gifts of money as are in my power, I mean – but he would rather humiliate himself slaving for that young peacock Norris than accept a penny. When I pass him in the courtyard he does not even acknowledge me, but I feel the hatred burning in him like a furnace.’

      ‘That is hard,’ I said. ‘But he is young, and the passions of the young are often as brief as they are fierce. Perhaps he will forgive you in time.’

      I bowed then and moved towards my staircase, keen to get to work before the hour grew too late. Mercer stepped towards me and grasped my hand.

      ‘I hope we will have a chance to talk further, Doctor Bruno,’ he said. ‘I am truly glad to have met you, and I hope I did not sound too sanctimonious in my disapproval this evening when we spoke of Agrippa and the Hermetic treatises.’

      ‘Oh, I am quite used to disapproval,’ I said, waving away his apology with a smile.

      ‘You mistake my meaning. The rector is a pious man and, as I say, he can be severe when he chooses – it is prudent for those whose position depends on his good opinion to express views that accord with his own when at his table. But I have long had a great interest in these works – as a scholar, I mean, for I believe that one can study the occult philosophies objectively yet still remain a good Christian. Is it not so, Bruno?’

      ‘Ficino thought so,’ I replied. ‘And I hope he was right, Doctor Mercer, else I am damned.’

      ‘Please – call me Roger,’ he said warmly. ‘Well, I shall look forward to our next discussion on these matters.’

      With that, he bowed and strode away across the courtyard. I turned towards my room just as fat drops of rain began once more to fall from a brooding sky.

       FOUR

      I read and revised my notes for the disputation until my lamp burned out, and afterwards I slept fitfully; the room was cold and the rain lashed hard against the panes as the timbers creaked. So it was that when I was disturbed by a great noise during a brief slumber I was at first not sure if it was morning or merely a hallucination of my confused dreams. Gradually, though, the noise became more insistent, and as I awakened to see that it was not yet dawn, I realised that the infernal riot outside my windows was the frenzied sound of a barking dog. I pulled the sheet closer around me, cursing the rector or whomever had thought to keep such a feral animal in the college grounds and curled up in the hope of recovering my ruined sleep, when a second sound joined that bestial dawn chorus, one that I have never forgotten and still, sometimes, hear in dreams. It was the blood-chilling scream of a human being in pain and mortal terror, and it rose in pitch and agony as the creature’s barking grew wilder and more vicious.

      As the horror of those combined sounds dispelled the last vapours of sleep, I realised that someone not far from my windows was in fear of their life; I supposed it must be some intruder, surprised perhaps by a watchdog, but I could not ignore it, so I hastily pulled on my breeches and a shirt and set out to find the source of this consternation and see if I might offer assistance.

      I emerged from my staircase into the shadowy courtyard; the heavy clouds were broken with veins of pale light and the rain, for the moment, had abated, leaving behind a silvery mist that hung thick in the morning air so that I could barely make out the clock on the north range opposite and had to step forward to read its hands: almost five. The dreadful noise of the hound continued and from other staircases around the main courtyard figures appeared through the vapour as young men, with hose pulled on under their nightshirts and hair disarrayed, timidly gathered in groups, whispering to one another, unsure whether to come any closer. The din was unmistakeably coming from the passageway in the east range that led to the rector’s lodgings and the Grove, the Fellows’ garden I had explored the previous evening. Gathering my wits, I ran the length of the passage to the iron gate, where I found two young men pulling at the handle, to no avail, and peering into the misty depths of the garden. Hearing my footsteps, they turned, their faces ashen.

      ‘Someone is in there, sir, with a wild beast!’ cried the taller. ‘I had just risen to wash when I heard his cries, but from here we can see nothing.’

      ‘We do not have a key!’ the other said frantically. ‘Only the senior men do, and the door is fast.’

      ‘Then we must wake one of the senior men,’ I said, wondering how the rector, whose lodgings must have windows on to the garden, could possibly be sleeping through this tumult. ‘You must know where their rooms are – quick, go and wake anyone who could open the gate. Is there another entrance?’

      ‘Two, sir,’ said the tall student, terrified, while his friend scuttled away up the passage in search of help. ‘Another gate like this from the passage at the other end of the hall, by the kitchens, and a door in the garden wall from Brasenose Lane, but they are all locked at night.’

      ‘Well, the man in there must have got in somehow,’ I said, urgently, as a throttled voice unmistakeably cried, ‘Jesu, save me! Holy Mother, save me!’ Another scream rent the air, followed by mangled cries for help, then a ferocious growling and a truly inhuman sound, a strangled gurgling that seemed to last for minutes. A small crowd of curious and agitated undergraduates was forming behind us when I heard the rector’s voice crying, ‘Let me through, I say!’

      His face was puffy and bleary with sleep, a coat thrown over his nightgown, and he carried in his hand a bunch of keys. He started when he saw me.

      ‘Oh – Doctor Bruno – what is this ungodly disturbance? Who is within – can you see anything? I tried to look from my windows, but the mist and the trees hide all else from sight.’

      ‘I can see nothing, but it seems that a wild animal is savaging someone in the garden. He must be helped, and quickly!’

      The rector stared at me as if I had just told him a herd of cows had flown over the college; then he collected himself and stepped towards the gate with his keys, but just as suddenly he stopped and turned back to me, his face tight with fear. The terrible snarling and barking continued within, but the human sounds had tailed off. I feared the worst.

      ‘But – but then it would be folly to enter without a weapon if a wild dog is on the loose!’ the rector stammered. ‘It must be killed – someone must fetch the constable or a serjeant-at-arms, who can bring a crossbow. One of you – quickly!’ he snapped at the crowd of half-dressed boys who stood at the end of the passageway, staring, open-mouthed. ‘Go for the constable – immediately!’ They all looked at one another before a couple of them ran out to the courtyard.

      ‘Could we not find a stick or a poker, anything? We must go in, Rector – I fear we may already be too late for the poor wretch trapped in there,’ I urged, holding out a hand for the keys.

      The

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