Heresy by S.J. Parris Page A

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 good night 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.
    When I said good night to Sophia, she extended her hand demurely and I kissed it respectfully under her father’s watchful eye, but he was then distracted by Doctor Bernard loudly fretting about where he had left his coat, and while the rector was reassuring Bernard that he had not brought any coat, Sophia leaned close to me and laid a hand on my arm.
    “Doctor Bruno, I should very much like to continue our earlier conversation. You remember? The book of Agrippa? Perhaps when the disputation is over, you may have more leisure to talk. I can often be found in the college library,” she added. “My father allows me to read there in the mornings and the early evenings, when most of the scholars are attending lectures and disputations.”
    “So that you do not distract them from their books?” I whispered back. She blushed, and gave me a knowing smile.
    “But you will come? There is much I would ask you.”
    She looked up at me with a surprising urgency, her hand lingering on my arm; I nodded briefly as her father appeared at her shoulder and levelledan enquiring gaze at me. I shook his hand, thanked him for the meal, and bade the company good night.

    I WAS GLAD to emerge into the cool of the passageway; the rain had stopped and the night air smelled fresh and inviting after the heavy warmth of the rector’s lodgings. I thought I might walk in the orchard garden to clear my head and digest before retiring, but as I reached the end of the passageway I realised that the iron gate had been closed. When I tried the ring set as a handle, I found it was firmly locked.
    “Doctor Bruno!” called a voice behind me, and I turned to see Roger Mercer standing at the other end of the passage, by the rector’s door. He took a few paces toward me. “You wished to take a turn in the grove?” He gestured toward the closed gate.
    “Is this not permitted?”
    “The grove is exclusively for the use of the Fellows,” he said, “and only we and the rector have keys. It is kept locked at night, for fear the undergraduates would make use of it for all manner of improper trysts. No doubt they find alternative places, if they can slip past the main gate,” he added, with an indulgent smile.
    “They are not allowed out of the college at night?” I asked. “That does seem a hard confinement on men in the prime of youth.”
    “It is meant to teach them self-discipline,” Mercer said. “Most of them find ways around the rules, though—I know I did at their age.” He chuckled. “Cobbett, the porter, is a good old man, he’s been here for years, but he is willing to look the other way for a few coins if the young ones come back from town after the gates are locked. He likes a drink too, Cobbett—sometimes I think he conveniently forgets to lock the gate altogether.”
    “Does the rector not discipline him?”
    “The rector is severe in some matters, but in others he shows a shrewdunderstanding of how best to manage a community of young men. A rod of iron is not always the wisest course—sometimes good leadership is a matter of knowing when to turn a blind eye. Young men will go to taverns and whorehouses whether we like it or no, and the greater the force used in prohibition, the greater the allure.”
    “As Doctor Bernard said about forbidden books,” I mused.
    Mercer glanced at me sideways as we emerged from the other end of the passage into the open courtyard, where the clock on the north range proclaimed the hour to be almost nine.
    “You must excuse Doctor Bernard some of his harshness,” he said, apologetically. “He has had to change his religion three times under four different