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in Latin.
    There was silence as everyone turned to look at the stranger who leaned, dark and hard-faced, against a pillar at the cloister’s edge. ‘And who have we here?’ Doctor Lucius asked. ‘I trust you have paid to attend my teaching?’
    ‘I’m here to say that Master de Beaufort is full of shit,’ Thomas said, ‘and does not understand or has not read the teachings of Aquinas, who assures us God is not bound by the sacraments. God, not Master de Beaufort, will decide the baby’s fate, and Saint Paul tells us in his first letter to the Corinthians that a child born to a couple of whom one parent is a pagan is holy to God. And Saint Augustine, in
The
City of God
, declared that the parents of the dead child could find a way to redeem its soul.’
    ‘Could, not would,’ yapped de Beaufort.
    ‘You are a priest?’ Doctor Lucius ignored de Beaufort and asked the question of Thomas, who was swathed in a black cloak.
    ‘I’m a soldier,’ Thomas said. He let the cloak fall slightly open to reveal his mail.
    ‘And you?’ Doctor Lucius demanded of Brother Michael, who had backed into one of the old cloister arches in an effort to dissociate himself from Thomas. The young monk was unhappy being anywhere near the university and seemed to be sulking. ‘Are you with him?’ Doctor Lucius asked Brother Michael, gesturing at Thomas.
    Brother Michael looked flustered. ‘I’m looking for the School of Medicine,’ he stammered.
    ‘The bone-setters and piss-sniffers give their lectures in Saint Stephen’s.’ Master de Beaufort sniggered as the doctor looked back to Thomas. ‘A soldier who speaks Latin!’ the Dominican said in mock admiration, ‘God be praised, but it seems the age of miracles has returned. Shouldn’t you be killing someone?’
    ‘I’ll get around to that,’ Thomas said, ‘after I’ve asked you a question.’
    ‘And once you have paid for my answer,’ Doctor Lucius retorted, ‘but for the moment,’ he now gestured for the attention of his students, ‘though I have no doubt our visitor,’ he waved an inky hand towards Thomas, ‘wins his arguments on the field of battle by brute force, he is entirely wrong in this matter. An unbaptised baby is doomed to the endless torments of hell, and Master de Beaufort will now demonstrate why. Stand, Master de Beaufort, and enlighten us.’
    The pale scholar jumped to his feet. ‘Man,’ he said confidently, ‘is made in the image of God, but woman is not. The laws of the church are clear on that distinction. I cite the
Corpus Iuris Canonici
in support of that contention.’ But before he could recite the church law there were heavy footsteps in the open corridor outside, and de Beaufort’s voice dribbled to nothing as six armed and armoured men came through the arch into the lecture room. They were dressed in mail haubergeons over which they had jupons with the image of the seated Virgin, and all were carrying spears and wearing helmets. They were followed by two men in the blue and rose robes of Montpellier’s consuls, the city’s governors, and then by a man wearing the badge of the white rose: Roland de Verrec.
    ‘You interrupt us,’ Doctor Lucius said indignantly, but in Latin so that none of the newcomers understood him.
    ‘That is him.’ Roland de Verrec ignored the doctor and pointed at Thomas. ‘Arrest him now!’
    ‘For what?’ Doctor Lucius used French this time. He was hardly defending Thomas by the question, instead he was defending his dignity, which had been affronted by the arrival of the armed men, and he was trying to establish his authority in the lecture room.
    ‘For the abduction of another man’s lawful wife,’ Roland de Verrec answered, ‘and for the worse crime of heresy. He is excommunicate, outlawed from the church and hated by men. His name is Thomas of Hookton and I demand he now be given into my custody.’ He gestured for the armed men to capture Thomas.
    Who swore under his breath and took two steps backwards. He seized Brother Michael, who was still gawking at the newcomers. Thomas had left his sword with Genevieve, for he would have been forbidden entrance to the monastery if he had arrived armed, but he had a short knife at his belt and he drew it, put his left arm around Brother Michael’s neck and the point of the knife against his throat. Brother Michael made a strangulated noise that checked the city guards. ‘Go back,’ Thomas told them, ‘or I kill the monk.’
    ‘If you