With a faint, utterly humourless smile that summed up how little he cared for Newton's opinions, Boyle said, 'John, Robert, let us see who we have here.'
With the points of their swords never wavering from the throats of the two robed figures, Hooke and Wickins pulled away the hoods and stepped back.
'James? My brother James?' Boyle reeled back. 'What. .?' The shock had turned the old man's face into a rigid mask; he seemed lost, paralysed.
It was the opportunity that Newton needed. With a roar he lunged forward, grabbed Boyle's wrist and forced him to drop his sword, which clattered to the floor.
Newton was the only one moving fast. The other five men seemed to be preserved in aspic. But, after a few moments, they began to recover, and suddenly the chamber was filled with flailing bodies, the clang of steel and rasping shouts.
Newton spun round and made a lunge for the ruby sphere. As he did so, Wickins caught him by the ankles and the two men toppled to the floor. In a blind rage, Wickins tore at Newton's hair, making him screech. He brought his sword up to Newton's throat.
'You have betrayed my friendship!' Wickins shouted into Newton's ear. 'I had grown to trust you.'
But, for all his anger, Wickins was not sure what to do next. Isaac Newton was at his mercy. One thrust of his blade, Wickins reasoned, and the man's life would end, his blood would carpet the floor. But that was not what they had come here to do. In spite of the hatred that Wickins now felt for the Lucasian Professor, he was not a murderer. It was at that moment he spotted the orb. He swept it up with his left hand and thrust it into his tunic. Then he pulled Newton to his feet, keeping his blade against the man's throat and began to step backwards towards the others. But he couldn't see where he was going, stumbled into one of the tall sturdy candleholders and went sprawling.
Newton dived for Wickins's sword. In a moment he had it in his hand and had whirled round to survey the room. His eyes were ablaze, every sense sharpened, every self-protective instinct empowering him.
A few feet away Boyle had caught his brother by the throat, forcing him against the wall. At the point of Hooke's sword, Nicolas Fatio du Duillier stood beside him, panting with fury.
'James, James. . How could you?' Boyle was saying, his voice cracking.
'Big brother Robert,' he sneered. 'Robert, who has always seen himself as my father. . save me your sanctimoniousness. I need it not.'
'But why?' Boyle whispered. 'Why?'
'You know not, Robert? Truly? You know not?'
Boyle shook his head slowly.
'Where else could I go, dear brother? How could I compete with you? A man who casts such a long shadow'
Boyle flinched as he felt the point of a sword against his neck.
'Drop your blade,' Newton hissed. 'Now!'
Boyle obeyed and turned around. Du Duillier and James Boyle were still facing Hooke's unflinching rapier and Wickins was scrambling to his feet. He dashed forward and plucked Boyle's sword from the stone floor.
'Another step and I will slice him open!' Newton yelled.
Wickins kept coming.
'I mean it.' And he dug his blade into Boyle's neck, drawing blood.
Wickins stopped. 'You will suffer in hell for this.'
'No, you are wrong, my old friend,' Newton replied evenly. 'For the Lord knows my motives are true.' He took a deep breath. 'Now, give me the sphere.'
Wickins remained rooted to the spot.
'Give me the sphere.'
'Don't, John,' Boyle gasped.
'Ignore this old fool. Hand over the orb. Now. Do it, or I swear I shall kill him,' Newton shouted.
Slowly, Wickins put his hand inside his tunic and his hand encircled the ruby sphere.
'No! Don't!' Boyle implored. 'Better that I die. .'
Wickins brought out the ruby sphere. As he did so, Hooke, who had been guarding du Duillier and James Boyle, suddenly flicked his blade towards Newton. Newton caught the movement at the edge of his vision and flinched. It was enough. Robert Boyle sank his teeth into Newton's hand. Newton screamed, but somehow managed to keep hold of his sword.
Cursing, Newton whirled around and slashed at Hooke's shoulder. Then he was gone, vanishing into the blackness of the corridor.
Wickins started forward, but Boyle restrained him. 'John, John, let him go. You will never find him in the labyrinth. We must make safe all that is left, the sphere and the documents.' He sounded weary and unbearably sad. 'I must untangle this terrible web and you must make safe the future. As soon as we reach the surface ride with all speed for Cambridge. Get there before Newton — and burn everything.'
Chapter 32
Oxford: 29 March, 9.05 p.m.
Back at the house Philip stoked up the Aga and put the kettle on while Laura went upstairs to find a woollen cardigan. A few minutes later they were in the sitting room with a fresh fire catching hold in the grate.
'The thing is,' Philip said, sipping at a mug of hot tea, 'Lightman's disappearance almost certainly has nothing to do with the murders. It's just a coincidence.'
Laura looked at him blankly. 'I can't see how they could be connected, but it's just so. . well. . weird.'
Philip shrugged. 'Did you get any feeling that Lightman was ill, or disturbed? Could he have flipped out?'
Laura shook her head.
'Did he suffer from depression?'
'I don't know. I've only seen him a few times in
recent years. He seemed totally together to me. Why? You think he just left his car and walked off?'
'It happens.'
'Sure. But Lightman?'
'Which means he was abducted?'
Laura looked up from her tea. 'God knows, Philip. But who. .?'
'I guess we'll know soon enough. The police won't want to let this one go easily. Lightman's a star in Oxford, and one of the wealthiest men in Britain.' He held up the DVD that they had retrieved from Box 14. 'Shall we?'
There were a few seconds of static before the screen lit up with an image of Charlie Tucker sitting on a chair, staring straight at the camera. They could see bookshelves behind him and an ashtray on the floor beside his chair. He was taking a drag on a cigarette. It looked as though he was filming himself: the angle was not quite right and the lighting was poor.
'Hi, Laura babe. Well, at least I hope it's you watching this.' He gave the camera a brief, nervous smile. 'By the time you get this,' he went on, 'I'll either be dead or abroad somewhere.'
Laura felt a knot in the pit of her stomach.
'The fact is,' Charlie continued, 'my life's in danger. I don't have long to explain and there's so much to say. I hate putting you in danger, but when you came to see me the other day. . well, I got the feeling you were already in it up to your neck, so. .'
'OK, where to start? Right, well. . You've obviously been to Box 14 at Paddington and you have the Newton text. I expect you've been wondering how on earth I could get hold of such a thing. Well, the truth is that for a while I was involved with the group I mentioned — you know, the occultists. .
'I speak in the past tense because I hope I've got out. You see, I was drawn in by default. They had some incriminating evidence concerning my political activities back in the 1980s and, well … the government has a long memory, especially when it comes to the sort of things I was doing.' Charlie produced a conspiratorial grin. 'Anyway, I scarpered when I realised what the group was really up to. I don't want to be part of that.' The cigarette had burned down to the filter, and he paused to take another from a packet in his pocket. Lighting it from the stub, he took a deep drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke.