‘Oh well, as you wish,’ John Dee said negligently.

I opened my mouth to speak but no words came. I could not believe that he would defend me so half-heartedly. Yet here he was, turning his back to me once more and copying my name into the Inquisition’s ledger.

‘Details,’ Bishop Bonner said.

‘Subject was seen to look away at the elevation of the Host on the morning of 27 December,’ John Dee read in a clerkly mutter. ‘Subject asked the queen to show mercy to heretics before the court. Subject is a familiar to Princess Elizabeth. Subject has a knowledge of learning and languages unbecoming in a woman.’

‘How d’you plead?’ Bishop Bonner asked me.

‘I did not look from the elevation of the Host . . .’ I started, my voice weary and hopeless. If John Dee was not going to support me then I was a dead woman on this one charge alone. And once they started to investigate my journey across Europe and the family of my betrothed, I would be identified as a Jew and that would mean the death of me, of my father, of Daniel, of his family, and of their friends, men and women I did not even know, families in London, in Bristol, in York.

‘Oh! This is nothing but malice,’ John Dee exclaimed impatiently.

‘Eh?’ the bishop said.

‘Malicious complaint,’ John Dee said briskly and pushed the ledger away. ‘Do they really think we have the time for maids’ gossip? We are supposed to be rooting out heresy here, and they bring us the quarrels of waiting maids.’

The bishop glanced at the paper. ‘Sympathy with heretics?’ he queried. ‘That’s enough for burning.’

John Dee raised his head and smiled confidently at his master. ‘She’s a holy fool,’ he said, laughter in his voice. ‘It’s her task in life to ask the questions that no sane man would ask. She talks nonsense, she is supposed to talk nonsense, shall we ask her to account for singing fiddle-dee-dee? Billycock sat on billycock hill? I think we should send out a very stiff letter to say that we will not be mocked by nonsensical accusations. We will not be used for the settling of servants’ rivalries. We are hunting out enemies of the faith, not tormenting half-wit girls.’

‘Let her go?’ the bishop asked, his eyebrows raised.

‘Sign here,’ John Dee said, sliding a paper across the desk. ‘Let’s get rid of her and get on with our work. The child is a fool, we would be fools to question her.’

I held my breath.

The bishop signed.

‘Take her away,’ John Dee said wearily. He swung round in his seat to face me. ‘Hannah Verde, also known as Hannah the Fool, we are releasing you from an inquiry into heresy. No charge to answer. D’you have wit enough to understand that, child?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said very quietly.

John Dee nodded to the gaoler. ‘Release her.’

I pushed myself up from the chair, my legs were still too weak to hold me. The guard slid a hand around my waist and kept me on my feet. ‘The women in my cell,’ I said quietly to John Dee. ‘One is dying, and the other has had her fingernails ripped out.’