Clearly Wynstan had had enough of drinking and whoring and had turned at last to gambling.

After a long wait in the alley, Edgar heard the monastery bell strike for the midnight service of nocturns, the first office of the new day. Soon afterward, the game seemed to come to an end. The players came out into the street, carrying branches from the fire to light their way. Edgar shrank back into his alley, but distinctly heard Wynstan say: “Luck was with you tonight, Monsieur Robert!”

“You take your losses in good spirit,” said a voice with an accent, and Edgar deduced that the foreign-looking stranger was a French or Norman trader.

“You must give me a chance to win it all back some time!”

“With pleasure.”

Edgar reflected ruefully that he had followed Wynstan all evening only to learn that the bishop was a good sport.

Wynstan, Wigelm, and Degbert turned toward Wigelm’s place, and Robert went in the opposite direction. On impulse, Edgar followed Robert.

The foreigner went to the beach. There he hitched up the skirts of his tunic and waded out into the water. Edgar watched him, following the flame, until he boarded a ship. By the light of the torch Edgar could see that it was a broad-beamed, deep-hulled vessel, almost certainly a Norman cargo ship.

Then the light was doused, and Edgar lost sight of the man.

* * *

Early next morning Edgar met with Aldred and confessed himself at a loss. “Wynstan spends the church’s money on wine, women, and dice, but there’s no mystery about that,” Edgar said.

But Aldred was intrigued by a detail Edgar had thought trivial. “Wynstan didn’t seem to mind having lost money, you say?”

Edgar shrugged. “If he did mind, he concealed it well.”

Aldred shook his head skeptically. “Gamblers always mind losing,” he said. “There would be no thrill otherwise.”

“He just shook the man’s hand and said he looked forward to a chance to win it back.”

“Something is wrong here.”

“I can’t think what it might be.”

“And afterward, Monsieur Robert boarded a ship, presumably his own.” Aldred drummed his fingers on the table. “I must talk to him.”

“I’ll take you.”

“Good. Tell me, is there a money changer in Combe? There must be, it’s a port.”

“Wyn the jeweler buys foreign money and melts it down.”

“Jeweler? He must have a balance and accurate weights for small amounts of precious metals.”

“I’m sure.”

“We may need him later.”

Edgar was intrigued. He did not follow Aldred’s thinking. He asked: “But why?”

“Be patient. It’s not clear in my own mind yet. Let’s go and talk to Robert.”

They left the monastery. Until now they had not been seen together in Combe, but Aldred seemed too excited to worry about that this morning. Edgar led the way to the beach.

Edgar was excited, too. Although he was baffled, he guessed they were nearer to solving the mystery.

The Norman cargo vessel was being loaded. On the beach was a small hill of iron ore. Men were shoveling the ore into barrels, carrying the barrels out to the ship, and emptying them into the hold. Monsieur Robert was on the beach, supervising. Edgar noticed that a leather purse bulging with coins was securely attached to his belt. “That’s him,” Edgar said.

Aldred approached the man and introduced himself, then said: “I have something important and private to tell you, Monsieur Robert. I think you were cheated last night.”

“Cheated?” said Robert. “But I won.”

Edgar shared Robert’s mystification. How could he have been cheated when he came away with a purse full of cash?

Aldred said: “If you will come with me to the jeweler’s house, I will explain. I promise you won’t feel it a wasted journey.”

Robert looked hard at Aldred for a long moment, then appeared to decide to trust him. “Very well.”

Edgar led them to the home of Wyn, a stone house that had survived the Viking fire. They found the jeweler at breakfast with his family. Wyn was a small man of about fifty with receding hair. He had a young wife—his second, Edgar recalled—and two little children.

Edgar said: “Good morning, sir. I hope I find you well.”

Wyn was amiable. “Hello, Edgar. How is your mother?”

“Feeling her age, to tell the truth.”

“Aren’t we all? Have you come back to Combe?”

“Just a visit. This is Brother Aldred, the armarius of Shiring Abbey, who’s staying at Combe Priory for a few days.”

Wyn said politely: “I’m glad to meet you, Brother Aldred.” He was puzzled but patient, waiting to find out what was going on.

“And this is Monsieur Robert, the owner of a ship in the harbor.”

“Happy to meet you, monsieur.”

Aldred then took over. “Wyn, would you be so kind as to weigh some English pennies that Monsieur Robert has acquired?”

Edgar began to see where Aldred was heading, and he became riveted.

Wyn hesitated only for a moment. To do a good turn for an important monk was an investment that would be repaid one day. “Of course,” he said. “Come into my workshop.”

He led the way and the others followed, Robert looking mystified but not unwilling.

Wyn’s workshop was similar to that of Cuthbert at the minster, Edgar saw, with a hearth, an anvil, an array of small tools, and a stout, ironbound chest that probably contained precious metals. On the workbench was a delicate-looking balance, a T shape with trays dangling from each end of the crossbar.

Aldred said: “Monsieur Robert, may we weigh the pennies you won at Cynred’s house last night?”

Edgar said: “Ah.” He was beginning to see how Robert might have been cheated.

Robert took the purse from his belt and opened it. It held a mixture of English and foreign currency. The others waited patiently while he picked out the English coins, all with a cross on one side and the head of King Ethelred on the other. He closed the purse carefully and reattached it to his belt, then counted out the pennies. There were sixty-three.

Aldred said: “Did you win all these coins last night?”

“Most of them,” said Robert.

Wyn said: “Please put sixty pennies in a tray—it doesn’t matter which one.” As Robert did so, Wyn selected some small weights from a box. They were disc-shaped and looked, to Edgar, as if they were made of lead. “Sixty pence should weight exactly three ounces,” Wyn said. He placed three weights in the opposite tray. The tray immediately sank to the bench. Edgar gasped, shocked. Wyn said to Robert: “Your pennies are light.”

“What does that mean?” said Robert.

Edgar knew the answer, but he remained silent while Wyn explained.

“Most silver coins contain some copper to make the disk more hard-wearing,” Wyn said. “English pennies have nineteen parts of silver to one part of copper. Just a moment.” He removed an ounce weight from the tray and began to replace it with smaller ones. “Copper is lighter than silver.” When the two sides balanced he said: “Your pennies contain about ten parts of copper to ten of silver. The difference is so small as to be imperceptible in normal use. But these are forgeries.”

Edgar nodded. That was the solution to the mystery: Wynstan was a forger. And furthermore, Edgar now realized, gambling was a way of changing bad coins for good. If Wynstan won at dice, he gained genuine silver pennies, but if he lost, he only sacrificed forgeries. Over the long run he was sure to come out ahead.

Robert’s face was flushed with anger. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

“I’ll prove it. Does anyone have a good penny?”

Edgar had Dreng’s money. He gave Robert a penny. Robert drew his belt knife and scratched the coin on the side with the head of Ethelred. The scratch was hardly visible.

Wyn said: “That coin is the same all the way through. No matter how deep you go, the color showing will be silver. Now scratch one of your own.”

Robert gave Edgar his penny back, took a coin of his own from the tray, and repeated the exercise. This time the scratch mark was brown.

Wyn explained: “The mixture of half silver, half copper is brown in color. Forgers make their coins look silver by washing them in vitriol, which removes the copper from the surface; but underneath the metal is still brown.”

Robert said furiously: “Those damned Englishmen were gambling with counterfeit money!”

Aldred said: “Well, one of them was.”

“I shall go and accuse Cynred now!”

“Cynred may not be the guilty one. How many were around the table?”

“Five.”

“Who will you accuse?”

Robert saw the problem. “So the cheat is going to get away with it?”

“Not if I can help it,” Aldred said resolutely. “But if you make a wild accusation now, they will all deny it. Worse, the villain will be forewarned and it will become difficult to bring him to justice.”

“What am I to do with all this false money?”

Aldred was unsympathetic. “You got it gambling, Robert. Have the forgeries melted down and made into a ring to wear to remind you not to gamble. Remember that the Roman soldiers at the Cross threw dice for our Lord’s clothes.”