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When fugitive Italian monk Giordano Bruno—philosopher, magician, and heretical scientist—arrives in London, he’s only one step ahead of the Inquisition. An undercover mission for Queen Elizabeth I and her spymaster provides added protection. Officially, Bruno is to take part in a debate on the Copernican theory of the universe at Oxford University; unofficially, he is to find out whatever he can about a Catholic plot to overthrow the queen. But when his mission is dramatically thrown off course by a series of grisly deaths and the charms of a mysterious but beautiful young woman, he realizes that somewhere within Oxford’s private chambers lurks a brutal killer. . .
numerous English collectors of antiquities and rare books travelling through Italy in the past century, and there was no knowing whether the man who had acquired such a book by accident might have sold it or merely abandoned it to gather dust in some corner of a library, not realising what fortune had dropped into his hands. “Then why do you believe it is in Oxford?” Sidney asked, after a while. “Process of elimination. The English collectors travelling through Europe in the last century would
his hair. “She will be safe in France.” “I think you are lying,” I said. He took a deep breath, gathering in his turbulent emotions, then fixed me with a severe look. “Then in that we are equal.” He replaced the cilice, clenching his jaw hard as it made contact with his ravaged skin, then buttoned up his shirt and shrugged on his doublet, watching me all the time. Finally he bent down to retrieve the length of rope from the floor, and with it bound my ankles, not painfully but firmly.
rubbed my wrists together, barely able to move my hands. Sidney hooked one of my arms over his shoulder and led me to his companion, supporting my weight with his arm around my waist. “Sir Henry Livesey, lord high sheriff of Oxfordshire,” Sidney announced, gesturing up at the man on the horse. “May I present Doctor Giordano Bruno of Nola—not, alas, at his best.” I attempted a bow, still clinging to Sidney’s neck, and the man on the horse smiled. “I … I had reason to believe Lady Tolling was
quill and inkwell on the desk in front of me. But that could hardly narrow the search; every scholar in the college must own one of those. The latch clicked softly and Godwyn reappeared, closing the door behind him and shaking his head to himself. “I am sorry to abandon you, Doctor Bruno—Rector Underhill wanted to discuss which of poor Roger Mercer’s books should be given to the library’s collection. Did you find what you wanted?” he asked pleasantly. “I fear the rats have been at your books,
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