This time Cnebba’s tone was different. Speaking to Edgar, he had sounded scornful; now he seemed startled and intimidated, causing Wynstan to frown uneasily. Cnebba said: “Who are you?” in a voice that was loud but anxious. “Where did you all come from? What do you mean by sneaking up on a man like that?”

Cuthbert set the crucible down on the workbench and said: “Oh, Jesus save me. Who is it?”

Someone rattled the door, but it was firmly barred.

Wynstan heard a voice he thought he knew. “There’s another entrance,” it said. “Through the main house.”

Who was that? The name came to him in a moment: Brother Aldred from Shiring Abbey.

Wynstan remembered telling his mother that Aldred was no threat.

“I will have him crucified,” Wynstan muttered.

Cuthbert was standing stock still, paralyzed by fright.

Wynstan looked around quickly. There was incriminating evidence everywhere: adulterated metal, illicit dies, and forged coins. It would be impossible to hide everything: molten metal in a red-hot crucible could not be tucked away into a chest. His only hope was to keep the visitors out of the workshop.

He stepped through the interior door that led into the minster. The clergy and their families were around the room, the men talking, the women preparing vegetables, the children playing. They all looked up suddenly when Wynstan slammed the door.

A moment later, Sheriff Den came in through the main entrance.

He and Wynstan stared at each other for a moment. Wynstan was shocked and dismayed. Aldred had clearly brought Den here, and there could only be one reason for that.

My mother warned me, Wynstan thought, and I didn’t listen.

He recovered his composure with an effort. “Sheriff Den!” he said. “This is a surprise visit. Come in, sit down, have a cup of ale.”

Aldred entered behind Den and pointed to the door behind Wynstan. “The workshop is through there,” he said.

They were followed in by two armed men Wynstan knew as Wigbert and Godwine.

Wynstan had four men-at-arms. Cnebba was guarding the outer door of the workshop. The other three had spent the night in the stables. Where were they now?

More of the sheriff’s men entered the minster, and Wynstan realized that it hardly mattered where his men were: they were hopelessly outnumbered. The wretched cowards had probably lain down their arms already.

Aldred strode across the room, but Wynstan stood squarely in front of the workshop door, blocking his way. Aldred looked at him but spoke to Den. “It’s in there.”

Den said: “Stand aside, my lord bishop.”

Wynstan knew he had no defense now but his rank. “Get out of this place,” he said. “It’s a priests’ house.”

Den looked around at the priests and their families, all staring silently at the confrontation. “It doesn’t look like a priests’ house,” said Den.

“You’ll answer for this in the shire court,” Wynstan said.

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re going to the shire court, all right,” said Den. “Now stand aside.”

Aldred pushed past Wynstan and put his hand on the door. Wynstan, furious, punched Aldred’s face as hard as he could. Aldred fell back. Wynstan’s knuckles hurt: he was not accustomed to fisticuffs. He rubbed his right hand with his left.

Den made a gesture to the men-at-arms.

Wigbert approached Wynstan. The bishop was bigger, but Wigbert seemed more dangerous.

“Don’t you dare touch a bishop!” Wynstan said furiously. “You’ll bring God’s curse down upon yourselves.”

The men hesitated.

Den said: “A man as wicked as Wynstan can’t bring down God’s curse, even if he is a bishop.”

His scornful tone maddened Wynstan.

“Seize him,” said Den.

Wynstan moved, but Wigbert was faster. Before Wynstan could dodge, Wigbert grabbed him, lifted him off his feet, and moved him away from the door. Wynstan struggled in vain: Wigbert’s muscles were like ships’ ropes.

Wynstan’s rage became as incandescent as the metal in Cuthbert’s crucible.

Aldred darted into the workshop, with Den and Godwine right behind him.

Wynstan was still being held by Wigbert. For a moment he had no inclination to move. The experience of being manhandled by a sheriff’s officer had shocked him. Wigbert slightly relaxed his grip.

Wynstan heard Aldred say: “Look at this: copper to adulterate the silver, dies to counterfeit the king’s currency, and brand-new coins all over the bench. Cuthbert, my friend, what got into you?”

“They forced me,” said Cuthbert. “I only wanted to make ornaments for the church.”

Lying dog, Wynstan thought; you were eager for this work, and you got fat on the profits.

He heard Den say: “How long has that evil bishop had you debasing the king’s coinage?”

“Five years.”

“Well, it’s over now.”

Wynstan saw a river of silver coins change course and begin to flow away from him, and his fury boiled over. He pulled away from Wigbert with a sudden jerk.

* * *

Aldred was staring in astonishment at the sophisticated counterfeit factory that was Cuthbert’s workbench: the hammer and shears, the crucible in the fire, the dies and molds, and the pile of shiny, fake pennies; and at the same time he was rubbing his face where Wynstan had hit him, high on the left cheekbone; when he heard a roar of rage from Wynstan, followed by a surprised curse from Wigbert, and Wynstan charged into the workshop.

He was red in the face and there was spittle on his lips like the foam on the mouth of a sick horse. He was screaming obscenities like a lunatic.

Aldred had seen him angry but never like this: he appeared to have lost all control. Roaring with incoherent hatred, he hurled himself at Sheriff Den, who fell back against the wall, taken by surprise. But Den, who Aldred guessed must be experienced at this sort of thing, lifted one leg and kicked Wynstan hard in the chest, sending him lurching away.

Wynstan turned on Cuthbert, who cowered away. Then Wynstan grabbed the anvil and tipped it over, spilling tools and forged pennies.

Wynstan grabbed the iron-headed hammer and raised it high. There was murder in his eyes, Aldred saw, and for the first time in his life he felt he was in the presence of the devil.

Godwine bravely came at him. Wynstan changed his stance, drew back his arm, and swung the hammer at the crucible of molten metal standing on the work bench. The clay shattered and the metal sprayed.

Aldred saw a hot splash land full on Godwine’s face. The big man’s scream of terror and agony was cut off almost as soon as it began. Then something struck Aldred’s leg below the knee. He felt a pain worse than anything he had known in his whole life, and he passed out.

* * *

Aldred screamed when he came round, and continued to scream for several minutes. Eventually his cries became groans. Someone made him drink strong wine, but that only made him feel confused as well as terrified.

When at last the panic subsided and he was able to focus, he looked at his leg. There was a hole in his calf the size of a robin’s egg and the flesh was charred black. It hurt like hell. The metal that had done the damage had cooled and fallen to the floor, he guessed.

One of the priests’ women brought ointment for his wound but he refused it: there was no telling what pagan magic ingredients had gone into it, bats’ brains or crushed mistletoe or blackbird droppings. Spotting the trustworthy Edgar, he asked him to warm some wine and pour it into the hole to cleanse it, then find a clean rag.

Just before passing out, Aldred had seen a large splash of molten metal land on Godwine’s face. Sheriff Den now told him that Godwine had died, and Aldred could understand how. A small drop of the molten metal had instantly made a hole in Aldred’s leg, so the quantity that had hit Godwine’s face must have burned all the way through to his brain in no time.

“I’ve arrested Degbert and Cuthbert,” Den said. “I’ll keep them prisoners until the trial.”

“What about Wynstan?”

“I hesitate to arrest a bishop. I don’t want to turn the entire Church establishment against me. But it’s not really necessary: Wynstan isn’t likely to run away, and if he does, I’ll catch him.”

“I hope you’re right. I’ve known him for years and I have never seen such a fit seize him. He’s gone beyond ordinary wickedness. He seems possessed.”

“I think you’re right,” said Den. “This is a new level of evil. But don’t worry. We’ve caught him just in time.”

CHAPTER 22

    October 998

here would be repercussions, Edgar knew. Wynstan would not accept what had happened. He would fight back, and he would be merciless with those involved in the exposure of his crime. Edgar felt fear like a small, hard growth in his belly. Just how much danger was he in?

He had played an important role, but always clandestinely. During the raid he had been out of sight, and only when the excitement was over had he appeared at the minster with a group of curious villagers. He would not have been noticed by Wynstan, he felt sure.